Here And Now
by Haleine Delail
Summary: The Doctor agrees to help an agency with its scientific experiments, and it comes at great cost to his emotional stability. He nees Martha's full support to finish the experiment with sanity intact - of course she offers her attentions without hesitation. But when revelations about the Doctor emerge from out of time, Martha isn't sure she can hold as tightly as he needs.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello again! I have returned to my favorite couple! This story is a stand-alone (had enough of series for now) and the relationship is canon... for the time being.**

**I want this tale to be very "atmospheric." Very close. Lots of emotion and whispers. Warm and muted, maybe even a little claustrophobic. Perhaps not in the first chapters, but definitely as the story progresses and pain begins to mount, relationships begin to change, desire begins to grow...**

**My only regret is that I am not able to add music to my posting!**

**With that, I bid you enjoy. Oh, and REVIEW if you are reading! I want to hear from you!**

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><p><span>ONE<span>

A pink tinge cast itself over all that they could see. Were pink walls and ceilings making the light seem pink, or vice versa? The temperature was slightly higher than was strictly comfortable, and the same went for the humidity. The hallway in which they now found themselves was long, rose-tinted, with no angles - only rather ethereal arches. Every fifty-or-so feet, another archway broke the perfect smoothness of the wall/ceiling giving the overall impression of a long, ribbed throat. Martha Jones felt vaguely as though she were caught in the gorge of a whale.

She walked beside the Doctor, stealing glances at him, noticing that even his brown suit somehow had absorbed the pink surroundings, and certainly his skin had. He was scowling, looking straight ahead with purpose, his jaw clenched, his eyes on-alert.

In front of them, leading them someplace undoubtedly interesting, was a female humanoid, just about Martha's height. She had quite lightly-coloured hair and wore a skin-tight neck-to-toe garment, in black, made of a fabric that closely resembled a very thin vinyl. When she had spoken to them in the drawing room a few minutes before, she had seemed shifty to Martha, as though she was hiding something. Her gaze had never quite come to rest on either of them, and she didn't seem willing nor able to answer any questions about why she had summoned the Doctor.

Martha wanted to ask, "What the hell is going on?" but she reckoned the Doctor had no idea.

At long last, the light-haired female humanoid stopped and gestured to a door. She then proceeded to unlock it. "Step this way, please."

Martha followed the Doctor across the threshold, through a doorjamb that was about three feet thick, into a room that was drenched completely in darkness. The temperature and humidity were a hair's breadth even higher than in the hallway. It was not pleasant, but not quite yet stifling. Where the hallway from which they had come had been an echoing cavern of sorts, this room seemed to have been soundproofed. Even with no sound trying to reach their ears, she could tell that they were insulated.

When the female said, "Apologies," Martha's suspicion was confirmed. There was a special kind of silence reserved for rooms like this, and a special crispness to all words spoken within.

Within a few seconds, though, the female had flipped a switch and they could all see once more. "This is the Tactile Chamber," she announced. Her voice was slightly raspy and rough, but also soft and beatific. In a way, her voice matched her appearance. For the first time now, Martha was really noticing that her skin was almost as light as her hair.

The Doctor and Martha both waited for further explanation or information on what the female had called the _Tactile Chamber_, but none came. She simply moved behind a podium that was to the right of the door though which they had entered, and set about flipping switches and arranging things.

The Tactile Chamber was like a small auditorium. A half-moon shaped stage was the focal point of one side of the room. All surfaces were black, and the back of the stage was lined with a concave curved black wall. There were three curved rows of spectator seats for an audience, all lined with soft black cushions. In fact, most everything in the room was black - floors, ceilings and walls included. And just as the silence in the room seemed even more muted than normal, so did the black surfaces.

The only thing that wasn't black was the light that illuminated the space. It hovered over the stage area and was soft and sharp at the same time. It was not pink, but rather a shade of gold-orange.

Interestingly, there was also a row of seats pressed flush up against the stage, but facing away from it. Folks who sat there would have their backs to the "action." Clearly the seats were not meant for spectating.

"Doctor, Miss Jones," said the female, stepping out from behind the podium. She approached them. "Thank you for your patience. I'm afraid I have been remiss in introducing myself. I am Vissa, and I run this facility."

"Yeah, that's nice," the Doctor said, his jaw tightening, his hands defensively going into his pockets. "But you might have started by telling us, _what is_ this facility?"

"It was easier to show you, that's why we brought you here with little or no explanation," Vissa said, moving toward the stage. She now stood directly in front of the away-facing row of seats in front of the stage. She gestured to one of the chairs. "Miss Jones, if you would."

"You want me to sit down?" Martha asked.

"Yes, please."

Martha looked at the Doctor. He looked back at her with an uncertain frown. She took it as a sign to withhold any assent or dissent until further information became available.

The Doctor began to walk toward the seat to which Vissa had gestured. He pressed his hands into the cushions, and felt the armrests. He got down on his knees and checked under the chair.

"Can't feel anything in the seat, nothing under it," he muttered. He sat back on his knees, looking up at Vissa, and asked, "What are you up to, eh? What's the game?"

Vissa seemed nonplussed, and opened her mouth to answer, but the Doctor was already aiming the sonic screwdriver into the dark patch underneath the seat.

Within a few seconds, he got to his feet and said, a harsh quality to his voice, "You have mind-probing devices under this chair."

"Yes," said Vissa. "And behind it, and above it." She gestured up, into a canopied area over their heads.

The Doctor, without asking permission, hopped up onto the stage. Vissa sucked in air through her teeth. "Doctor, do, please, be careful. That surface is not meant for treading upon."

"Your _stage_ isn't meant for treading upon? Who are your performers, ghosts?" he asked, aiming the sonic up into the canopy and squinting at it. "These aren't Ceblanec probe lasers are they? Because that would almost certainly give Martha cancer."

"Oh, Doctor, that's not a stage," Vissa said, holding her arms out in front of her, clearly nervous about the Doctor's actions. "_Please_ watch your step!"

The sound of the sonic died, and the Doctor turned his attention toward the pale woman. "Not a stage, then wha..." his eyes were now fixed upon the surface on which he was standing. "No!" The word came out like a disbelieving heave.

"Yes, Doctor, now please come down."

"What?" asked Martha, now making her way toward them.

"It's a holographic field," the Doctor answered, jumping back down onto the black carpet. Vissa seemed visibly relieved. "It's really very cool."

"Oh," Martha said, not sure what else to say.

"So, Miss Jones, will you please sit?" asked Vissa, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Go ahead," said the Doctor to Martha. To Vissa he said, "That was a _no_ on the Ceblanec probe lasers, correct?"

"Correct. Absolutely, that's a _no_," Vissa responded.

"Do I have your word?"

Vissa raised her voice slightly, for the first time. "What do you take us for, Doctor, honestly! We are far more sophisticated - and less cruel - than that. We use Veridic Wave-Extrapolators."

"Oh!" the Doctor said, surprised. He blinked his eyes several times with the impact of this news. "Wow. Okay, then."

"What's that mean?" whispered Martha.

He leaned closer to her and whispered back, "The TARDIS uses Veridic Wave-Extrapolators in her translation circuits."

"They have the same technology as the TARDIS?" she asked a little shocked.

"A bit of it, yeah," he said. "So, wait, Vissa. Martha is already under the influence of a Veridic Wave-Extrapolator from the operating system of my time vehicle. Will yours interfere with it?"

"I shouldn't think so. Which frequency does your time vehicle's extrapolator use?"

"Alpha, of course."

"Then we shall use Beta. Not to worry. Miss Jones?"

Martha moved forward. "Fine, I'm sitting down." And she did. She took the seat that Vissa had offered a few moments before.

"Wonderful," said Vissa. "Doctor, please take a spectator's seat."

The Doctor sat in the front row, directly across from Martha, while Vissa moved over to the podium. She punched a few keys, and the "stage" area behind Martha filled up with thousands of tiny golden balls of light. Strings of them moved from floor to ceiling in hypnotic, straight lines. Martha stole a glance, and was reminded of a glass of beer, and the way the bubbles move inside when newly-poured.

"You should know that the blackened room is part of this process," Vissa said. "It is so as not to distract the subject - that would be Miss Jones - by way of any colour or decoration."

"Interesting," the Doctor said, earnestly.

"In fact," Vissa continued, sounding just a bit uncomfortable. She cleared her throat. "Other measures are often taken with subjects so as not to distract them, depending upon the, er... task at hand. But we shall discuss all of that later. Are you comfortable, Miss Jones?"

"Yeah, sure," Martha answered, shrugging.

"Then let's begin," Vissa said with a soft touch. "Try to relax. Take deep breaths."

Martha breathed in, then out. Then in, then out - ever so slowly. She felt her heart slow, and she concentrated on letting go of any tightness.

"Clear your mind," Vissa's voice rang softly. "Or, rather, focus on yourself, on your mind and body. Close your eyes if you wish, continue to take more deep, solid breaths. Let the heat in the room get inside you. Let the silence envelop you."

She paused.

"See the heat," she continued, at a near-whisper. "Imagine it sinking into your skin, oscillating about like smoke. It does not burn, but it makes you feel grounded and real, like you really live in your body. Now, feel the silence. Touch it. See yourself lying back in the warm quiet, like it's a welcoming gel. Nothing to worry about... nothing to fear."

For what felt like several long minutes, Martha just sat in a meditative state with her eyes closed, doing as Vissa asked. She breathed in and out slowly. The heat and the silence were a bit oppressive, but it helped with the effect, the clearing, the sinking into self.

"Martha, did you have a favourite plaything, when you were a child?" Vissa asked, her soothing, breathy voice seeming to bounce off the walls within Martha's head.

"Yes, of course," Martha said.

"Open your eyes, if you like, or you may keep them shut, it's your choice," said Vissa.

Martha opened her eyes. Even in her trance-like state, she registered the Doctor's presence just across from her, with his eyes now fixed on something over her head. Martha realised that she had, on Vissa's subtle suggestion, conjured a mental image of a plush bear she had had when she was a child. Realising this only made the image stronger.

"Tell me about it," Vissa encouraged.

"It was a grey teddy bear," Martha said. "His name was Alexander. When I got him, he had a red bow-tie, but it got lost on a trip to Brighton one summer."

"And why was he special to you?"

"My grandmother gave him to me for my third birthday," Martha answered with a sad smile, her voice lilting like a little bell. "And he was so soft - like velvet. He had this little face that reminded me exactly of a real-life kitten, the kind that adores you, and just wants to play..."

"What did it feel like to hold him?"

"So comforting," she said. She involuntarily found herself concentrating on the actual sensation of _holding_ little Alexander; his exact feel against her cheek, the thickness of him in her arms, the contours of his squishy plush body. She sighed audibly.

"Doctor, wave at her," Vissa said evenly.

"What?"

"Wave at her," Vissa repeated.

The next thing Martha knew, the Doctor was leaning a bit forward in his seat, waving his right hand back and forth, searching her eyes for something.

"Oh, hi," Martha said, coming out of the meditative state and falling into a smile. "That was wild."

"Turn around and look," the Doctor said.

She stood up and directed her attention to the stage, or rather the holographic field. She was not, at this point, surprised to see the perfect image of her bear, Alexander, hovering just a few inches above the floor. They had even captured his slightly motheaten appearance, and the chip that had been taken out of his shiny plastic eye when her sister Tish had dropped him out of her bedroom window to torment Martha. On an intellectual level, Martha understood that "they" had got it right because this was how the bear appeared to her, inside her mind. Talking about it only helped call forth specific memories, details and sensations.

And without warning, an emotional wellspring heaved up inside of Martha, and she found that she was crying.

"Whoa," the Doctor said, stepping toward her. With one hand on her shoulder and a concerned bow to his head, he asked, "What happened? Are you okay?"

Martha could not answer, sobbed for about twenty seconds, turning and pressing her forehead into the Doctor's left arm. He continued to look at her with concern and alarm, and tried to comfort her by patting her back with his free hand. The outburst had taken him totally by surprise, and he guessed, her too.

And suddenly, it was over. Martha got control, stood up straight, sniffled, and said, "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"It's a residual effect of the process," said Vissa, coming forth with a piece of cloth that Martha took, and used as a handkerchief. "You weren't very deeply under, so the emotional welling did not last long. Can I assume the bear is lost to you now?"

"Yeah," Martha said. "Poor Alexander got misplaced somehow when my parents moved to a new home while I was at university. I was really upset when my mother told me."

Vissa nodded subtly. "The Extrapolator tugs at your mind a bit, which can upset the chemical balance that regulates your emotions. In addition, you were conjuring images of something beloved that has been lost. The memories, the regret, simply the remembrances of things past. The effects are temporary."

"Well, that bit aside, I thought it was brilliant. Didn't you?" she asked the Doctor.

"Yeah, sort of," the Doctor said. "But I've seen it before. Why was this so difficult to explain?"

"Because this is not the brilliant part," Vissa said, turning to lead them back to the hallway. "That is still to come. Please follow me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Off to a pretty good start! Thanks for the reviews so far! Please continue to let me know your thoughts. I've said it before and I'll say it again: it's one of the major things that keeps me writing and posting!**

**FYI: This idea came to me loooooong before the forest episode of this past weekend. And I can prove it! Not that there's much that's similar between that episode and my story other than "forest." I just thought I'd put that out there. ;-)**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><span>TWO<span>

Vissa led the Doctor and Martha back down the same pink whale-throat hallway, a short distance to a new room. This one was the size of an aeroplane hangar. The ceilings were at least four stories high, and Martha estimated that the circumference of the room might be a half-mile or more. Like in a gymnasium, there were rafters at the very top, but unlike any indoor floor she had ever seen, this one was porous somehow. It looked like they were walking atop a very tightly-knit brown sponge.

But what made this room especially jarring was the lighting. After seeing nothing but dreamy pink and orange illuminations in the facility, the hangar room was flooded with what looked to Martha like fluorescent light.

"Whoa," she commented as they stepped inside, closing the incongruously small door behind them. "It's like emerging from the cinema in the middle of the day."

"At least it's a tolerable temperature in here," the Doctor muttered.

"This is called the Birth Room," Vissa informed them, walking past. She set herself up at a podium, very much like the one in the Tactile Room. "In a moment, you'll see why."

She first put on a pair of dark glasses. Martha assumed, from the look of their skin, and from the state of the parts of the building she had seen, that inhabitants of this planet were sensitive to light.

Vissa took a minute or so, and seemed to be typing on a key pad. Suddenly, the room went almost dark, save for some small lights attached to the podium so that the operator could see, and one spotlight in the middle of the room.

"Sorry, Miss Jones, but you're going to have to go all the way out there to retrieve it," Vissa said.

"To retrieve what?" asked Martha.

"Oh, you can't be serious!" the Doctor asked delightedly, with a hint of scepticism.

"Can't be serious about what?" Martha wanted to know.

And as quickly as they had dimmed, the lights were back on, in full. In the middle of the room, there sat a small grey object that hadn't been there before. Martha squinted at it, then began to walk toward it.

She heard the Doctor exclaim, "Oh, ho-ho-ho, now _this_ is amazing. Now I get it! Now I see why you couldn't explain! I wouldn't have believed you!" as she walked away from him.

After a moment, she broke into a jog. And as she neared the grey object, she couldn't believe her eyes.

"Alexander!" she cried out, bending to pick up the grey bear. She smiled widely, stroking his head, feeling the velvety-soft texture, marvelling at the chipped eye, the endearingly ragged appearance, and the strikingly life-like kitten face. He was exactly as she remembered him.

She jogged back to where the Doctor and Vissa were standing. "This is... oh, my God, how did you do this?" she wondered

In response, the Doctor dashed over to the podium and began inspecting the gadgets.

Vissa grew nervous once again. "Doctor, prudence please."

"I'm not going to _adjust_ anything, just relax," he said. Once again, he inspected the equipment by aiming the sonic screwdriver at it. "I just want to see how it works."

Visa piped up, "I can tell you..."

"Yeah, but I prefer to _discover!"_

After a moment, the Doctor frowned again and looked at Vissa with suspicion. "You have atemporal molecular analysis technology."

"Yes," confirmed Vissa.

"The Time Lords tried for centuries to perfect this. Not even _we _could do it."

"Wait," said Martha. "_Atemporal molecular analysis_? Does that mean you have something that can _analyse molecules_... across time?"

"Yep," the Doctor said, popping the _p_. "That's exactly what it means."

"So, something got into my mind, and not only replicated the image of my teddy bear, but also reached across my life, into the past, and examined the actual bear itself, in order to materially reproduce it?" she asked.

"Yep," he confirmed, never taking his mistrustful eyes from Vissa. "Crossing the boundaries of time and space, but not changing anything. No interference - just an intellectual pursuit on the part of the... timey-probey things. How very Time Lord, indeed."

"Is that cool, or really bloody dangerous?" she asked him.

"Well, it's both," he told her. "Vissa, where the hell did you get the plans for this machine?"

"We developed it ourselves," Vissa assured him, rather defensively. "We researched the work that the Time Lords had done, and we finished it."

"How?"

Vissa shrugged. "It's easy to touch stratospheres when standing on the shoulders of giants. We gave it time, effort, patience. Please don't get me wrong, Doctor - we firmly believe that the Time Lords _would_ have finished the work, given another century or two in which to complete the controlled trials. But the work was unfinished when the last Time War began, and... well..."

"Why?" he asked, harshly.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked back.

"To what end? Why would you appropriate a Time Lord project and make it your own? Something that can replicate literally anything you have seen, across time? And while we're on the subject, why is _this room_ so ginormous?"

"Actually, to correct you, Doctor, the holographic technology that we have in the Tactile Room works best at producing images of something that the subject has _touched_," she told him. "That's why it's called _Tactile_. And to answer your question about our objectives, and why the Birth Room, in which we are standing is so... _ginormous_, is it?... I will have to share with you yet more research that we have been doing."

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><p>The Doctor and Martha found themselves sitting opposite one another, in an office. The area they were in was quite comfortable, save for the heightened temperature and humidity and the pink tinge, even more pronounced than in the hallway. She was in a soft armchair, and the Doctor had a place on a sofa facing her. Between them, there was a glassy black coffee table. Martha could see without asking that it was a holographic surface, much like the larger one on the "stage" in the Tactile Room.<p>

Vissa had removed her dark glasses a few minutes before, and had left the room, promising to send someone in with refreshments. Sure enough, a male, seemingly in uniform, entered the room with two beverages on a tray. He had the same pale hair and skin as Vissa, and politely handed each of them a drink, and to Martha's dismay, it was hot.

They said almost nothing while waiting for Vissa to return. When she did, she had changed her clothes. She now wore what looked like a light-coloured choir robe with a hood down the back.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she said. "How are you enjoying your tea?"

The Doctor and Martha both looked into their cups, both feeling too warm to have tried any of the drink, and both gave a half-mumbled, stock answer, something along the lines of, "Yeah, yeah... lovely, it's great."

"Doctor, Miss Jones, welcome to the planet Prissentra," said Vissa, standing at the head of the coffee table and spreading her arms rather regally. "You are in a government building dedicated to research and the physical sciences. I, as you know, am Vissa Voor, head of the Department of Scientific Research and Public Relations."

"Scientific Research _and _PR?" asked Martha, unable to hide her surprise.

"Yes," said Vissa. "Is that unusual?"

"Well, where I come from, yeah."

"Our sciences on Prissentra, especially in the developped parts of our world, go hand-in-hand with sociology and social change," Vissa explained. "Therefore, much of our scientific staff is also well-versed in public relations. Next year, the dual-licensure mandate takes effect for all new employees."

Martha chuckled. "That seems eminently reasonable."

"It _is _eminently reasonable. Thank you, Miss Jones." From her desk, Vissa picked up something rectangular, the width and thickness of a laptop computer. She handed it to the Doctor. "Doctor, do you know what this is?"

He took it, turned it over in his hands and examined it. "It's the same material that the floor in the Birth Room is made of, but that's all I can tell you."

"It's Terraforming Starter Soil," she told him.

His jaw dropped, and he stared at the rectangle in his hand. "You are joshing me."

"No, indeed."

"You lot are using Time Lord science to _terraform_?" he asked.

"We are trying to," she said. "We don't know yet whether it's possible."

"And what is your Starter Soil made from?"

"A compound of nutrients found across the universe," she said. "I have the full bio-profile, if you'd like to look at it. It is all interlaced in a synthetic mesh that allows not only for root-taking from the terraformed life, but also for injection of key nutrients or fertilizers as needed."

"And that's why it looks like a big sponge," the Doctor concluded, still frowning at it.

"Does terraforming mean what I think it does?" asked Martha.

"Probably," said the Doctor.

"Making patches of land grow, modeled after a particular ecosystem, or design?" she asked. "That's what it sounds like to me."

"Yep," said the Doctor, a bit darkly. "Except it usually comes with a speed component. Growing new life and developing ecosystems is one thing. Growing a whole swamp out of a brain capsule in a matter of an afternoon is a whole different kettle of fish. Actually, those fish are in a different pond. Different ocean."

Without having to ask, Martha thought she could read what the Doctor might be thinking. She had spent enough time with him, and heard enough of his musings on the ethics of power, technology, research, appropriation, biology and biochemistry, and the like, to understand the dilemma in his mind.

Simply put: what occurred in the Birth Room represented the harnessing of an enormous amount of power.

And more often than not, power and corruption go hand-in-hand.

Reaching feelers across time to examine something and reconstitute it in the here and now, it had the potential for great good, and for great disaster. It had not been lost on her, the fact that since they had arrived, the Doctor's tone had oscillated between delighted awe and harsh suspicion. And rightly so, she felt. What _were_ they planning on doing with this technology? What artefact might have been so important that they would deem it necessary to develop a way to reproduce it exactly, in this time, in this place? What if this ability fell into the wrong hands? It was, Martha knew from studying physics in tandem with 20th century history, _human _nature to take the latest technological developments and weaponise them. She reckoned the Doctor might be wondering whether it was in Prissentra's nature to do the same. What havoc could be wrought via this molecular pressurising inside the so-called "Birth" Room? And now that she knew they wanted to make exact copies of large chunks of _land_, all of those questions and uncertainties were now magnified.

And these were just the questions and uncertainties that Martha Jones could think of, with her admittedly rather sharp human brain. God only knew how many more questions and uncertainties the Doctor might have, ones that she couldn't even fathom.

Vissa smiled. "Because my department deals in science and PR, it seems natural to us that we would use our discoveries to enhance public relations. More accurately, to enhance public enjoyment, thereby enhancing public relations. Not just with the government, but with one another."

"So you're going to use this incredibly advanced process to _entertain_ people?" asked the Doctor, incredulously.

"Not entertain, Doctor. Improve the quality of life. Special locales will be created for new, pleasant habitations and relaxation retreats."

"So, resorts and condominiums," he said.

"If you like," she said. "But don't get me wrong. There are also plans in the works for duplicating the Dirt Fields of Accra."

"Dirt Fields?" Martha asked.

"Yeah, there's an incredibly prolific vine that grows just beneath the surface of the soil on Accra," the Doctor said quickly. "Gives the impression that there are thousands of square miles of dirt all over the place, but it's really quite well-vegetated. The vine itself is medicinal."

"Ah. Well _that _doesn't seem like such a bad thing," Martha said. "Will the money you earn from the resorts go toward funding, say, biomedical research?"

"Some of it, yes," said Vissa, suddenly adopting an air more like the shy one she demonstrated when they'd first met her. She broke eye contact and said, "Actually, very little. But the bulk of the research will be paid for by grants."

"Ah," Martha sighed. "Typical."

"Case in point," Vissa continued. "There is a particular medical research project we were interested in, and it is why we asked you here, Doctor."

"Oh, okay, then," he said, sitting forward. "Not we're getting somewhere. Martha, pay attention, this is right up your alley."

"Well, it's not strictly medical, but more psychiatric," Vissa clarified.

"What is it?"

"Because we wish for this to be viewed as a _positive_ endeavour by our people, we are beginning with this, long before we try to do any for-profit development."

"What is it?" he repeated.

"We were hoping that you could help us with this particular experiment, because you, and you alone, have the intellectual resources to..."

"What is it?" he asked pointedly, slowly, and now loudly.

She sighed, clearly dreading what she was about to say. "We want to terraform the Forest of Solace and Solitude."


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm hoping that this chapter will afford you the first glimpse of what this story will really be "like".**

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><p><span>THREE<span>

In a cloud of hot mist, Martha Jones twisted a soft towel round her hair and piled the excess on top of her head. She took her time, and it felt good. The Doctor needed some space, and anyway, the beige marbled bathroom was beautiful enough to warrant a slightly extended stay.

After spending a long few minutes drying off, filing down her fingernails, massaging lavender-scented moisturiser into her skin and shimmying into the softest terrycloth bathrobe she had ever touched, she stepped into a room bathed in muted yellow-peach. Much like the rest of the facility, the state room that Vissa had arranged for them was warmly lit, and warmly kept. It was not large, but it was luxurious.

Martha was pleasantly surprised to find a lovely chill flowing gently through slightly open doors leading onto a terrace. And there on the terrace he stood, gazing at a sky that was, almost literally, half-covered by moon. His arms were fanned out to the sides, and his hands gripped the ornate stone railing in front of him. He was upright, taut, with one leg crooked behind the other, the ball of the foot pressing into the concrete patio.

Since Vissa had said the words _Solace and Solitude_, the Doctor had been sullen. He had frowned deeply when the revelation had come to light, had posed a few questions and then asked very quietly whether he could be allowed to think about it. From there, they were shown to this room. He had not spoken since arriving, and Martha had known enough to get out of his way.

Now, it had been over an hour, and she approached the ajar French doors. A bit more quietly than usual, she asked, "All right?" She did not open the doors any further, nor step outside.

"I'm all right," he sighed. To her surprise, he turned his head to look at her. "What are you standing there for? Come outside."

The door creaked as she pulled it open a little further, to accommodate her body and about two extra inches of robe. The Doctor moved a foot to his right, inviting her to take a place beside him at the railing. She walked forward and leaned on it with her forearms, looking back up at him.

He could feel her eyes, and he knew she wanted to ask what had rendered him so suddenly morose. Just this once, even in his painful contemplation, he decided to extend himself, rather than waiting for, then rebuking, her.

"The Forest of Solace and Solitude," he said, just above a whisper. "Was a paradise to me, Martha. Back home."

"Do you mean... back home, on your planet?" she asked, matching the barely-audible tone.

He nodded. "The Forest covered about eighty per cent of the mountains... the Mountains, oddly enough, of Solace and Solitude. On the northernmost peak was where the Academy was located - where I spent the best years of my youth." His jaw tightened, and he blinked hard, squinted at the moon, still gripping the rail. Martha simply waited for him to continue.

"The surrounding forest was, for all practical purposes, _part_ of the Academy. There were time portals in the Forest that the professors had managed to locate, and had learned to control somewhat, so it's where we did all of our trials and exams - flying and aiming a TARDIS, feeling our way across events, time, the cosmos. Some of it was tangible, most of it spectacularly _intangible_. It's where the Untempered Schism was. You could stand there and look into the Vortex. All that whirly-burly time energy just waiting mess everything up - it was brilliant. So, so dangerous, but brilliant. It's where I really learned to _use _time and space. I failed those exams, but all the same."

Martha chuckled lightly, but said nothing.

"Time Lords do their Passages in the Forest of Solace and Solitude as well," he explained. "We spend a year alone in the Forest, and learn to find comfort within ourselves."

"So, you learn to find solace in solitude," Martha reasoned.

"Exactly," he said. "If you run across one of your schoolmates, you may spend a maximum of one hour with him or her, and then the Passage must continue, and you must go your separate ways. A lot of us found that during our Passage, even if we saw each other, we didn't _want _to spend time together at all. Kinship with the Forest had to be cultivated, and _language, _explicit spoken language could hamper that, and the real solace in our solitude had to be recommenced from the ground-up. Some of my schoolmates thought that finding _that _out was the real objective of the exercise."

"Was the Forest itself sentient?" asked Martha, rather cautiously.

He was quiet for a few moments, and there was an eerie stillness. Then he mused, "Sometimes I wish you weren't so clever."

"I'm sorry," she said, before she could stop herself.

"Because that question is something I've been asking myself all my life... and I still don't know. And you asking... it just reminds me of how much I don't know, and how much of this whole business is ambiguous, and up-in-the-air," he said, and he leaned forward with his forearms against the stone rail now, and bent to bury his forehead in his brown pinstriped sleeves. "That question, Martha, is one of the things that makes this all so difficult."

"Of whether the Forest was sentient?"

"Yes, because I just don't know! How can I agree to yea or nay, to help Vissa or not to help, if I don't know?" he asked, still bent at the waist, talking into his arms and the stone. "And if it _was_ sentient, what are the implications of terraforming it? Are we just cloning life forms? Or are we reconstituting consciousnesses, souls that have lived and died with the planet Gallifrey, and should be left to rest with it? And if we are, is that even ethical? Is it cruel? Is it dangerous somehow? Will the trees have memories of..." and with that, he stood up straight and stared at the moon again, this time his eyes flooded.

"Oh, God," she whispered, seeing his suddenly very haggard face, and the tears threatening to fall.

"And if it wasn't sentient," he continued, barely moving his lips. "Then the Ancients were right, and the Forest had special properties."

"Special properties?"

"Yes, a calming effect. There is a reason the Forest was chosen as the site of our Passages," he explained. "Time Lords are supposed to be tranquil beings, adults who are okay with things the way they are, never interfering with events, and wielding the fabric of existence in a highly level-headed manner. Problem is, adolescent Time Lords are just like adolescent humans. So... we do Passages. The kinship of the Forest is forced into you, and when you come out the other side, even with no other guidance, you've got your Zen on."

"You've got your Zen on?" she asked him.

"Well, once upon a time, perhaps I did have. Things have changed," he mused. "But the Forest is where my mind automatically goes when I _need_ to get my Zen on. It's a reflex - that's how strong it is."

"So if the Forest isn't sentient, how is that accomplished?"

"Good question. There are lots of theories. Residual reciprocal stabilising responses to the schism and the portals in the area. Chemical interaction with the planet's atmosphere, and by turn, interaction with Time Lord brain chemistry. Biocompatibility with Time Lords themselves, making them almost literally a part of us... who knows?"

She said nothing.

Once again, he bent and buried his forehead. "But all of those things might add up to danger. Vissa wants to use the terraformed copy as a psychological retreat for folks with anxiety issues. What if this lot is intolerant of those particular chemicals? That particular brand of energy output or whatever those trees possessed? No records exist Martha - they all burned with the planet. My instinct is to say _no_ to Vissa, and catch the first TARDIS ride out of here."

The pain in his voice made her ache in turn. She moved closer to him, and gently rested her hand on his shoulder, and stroked. She half-expected him to recoil, but he did not. After a few moments, she rested her whole arm comfortingly across his back, and bent herself, to bring her voice closer.

"But Doctor, what if the Forest is just a forest?" she whispered. "What if the calming effect was to do with _you_, to do with the _Time Lord_ state of mind, and positive effects of attending the Academy? What if the trees are not sentient, and possess no independent calming effects of their own?"

"Then the terraformed copy will not function in the psychological trials that Vissa wants to do," he mumbled. "Either way, why would I bother? Why would I risk helping this lot with their stolen - post-appropriated - technology that has the potential to level entire galaxies, if misused?"

* * *

><p>The next morning, they returned to Vissa's office.<p>

In a very calm, collected, Time Lord-like manner, the Doctor explained to Vissa, with Martha by his side, why he felt he could not help them to terraform the Forest of Solace and Solitude. He explained, as best he could, all of the variables, the X-factors contained within the mysterious Forest, of which even he, himself was not fully cognizant. He discussed the ethics of resurrecting sentient life, and the disturbing memories the trees might harbour from the day of their own horrific destruction - the type of memory no-one should ever have to endure. He explained how possibly there might be chemical reactions to think of, or possibly frequencies omitted by the trees that would require gaping time portals to help moderate without driving anyone in the vicinity, with a brain, absolutely mental. He also explained the possibility, as Martha had pointed out, that all of it was moot, and that the Forest would only serve to provide Solace and Solitude to a Time Lord, in which case it would not do Vissa, nor any of her colleagues, much good.

He also explained his misgivings about the technology itself, how dangerous atemporal molecular analysis could be, especially if it fell into the wrong hands. He even admitted that the fact that the Prissentrans called the ginormous hangar, the "Birth Room" made him very nervous. He felt that it spoke to an idealism, a beatific ignorance of the possibilities, of what was _actually_ going on in that room. Truthfully, he hadn't meant to say quite so much, but once the insecurities started to flow, he couldn't stop them.

Vissa listened intently, reciprocating the Doctor's Herculean calm. She did not comment on anything he said, but responded with facial expressions that convinced the Doctor and Martha that she had heard and understood his reasoning.

"Thank you, Doctor, for laying out so clearly why you are reluctant to assist," she said when he had finished speaking. "I certainly cannot fault you for any of your qualms. They are, to use Miss Jones' words from yesterday, _eminently reasonable_."

The Doctor cracked a little smile for the first time that morning. "And yet, I sense that you are about to try and convince me to abandon all of my eminently reasonable qualms."

"Not necessarily," Vissa said. Her light robe swept behind her as she moved to sit in the armchair Martha had occupied the day before. "You hold onto your qualms all you like. But I _am_ going to try and change your mind about helping us."

"I don't think you can," he said, a weariness coming through in his voice that betrayed the fact that he had spent the entire night standing on the balcony, mentally asking questions of the moon, rather than sleeping.

"I certainly understand your trepidation concerning the technology itself," she began. "In fact, Doctor, we are fully aware of the dangers, and have already discussed the possibility that it could be misappropriated for malevolent gains."

"Let me guess, you've considered it from all angles, and have taken all necessary measures," he sighed.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," she said. "But more to the point, the fact that _you _are not comfortable with it will not stop us from experimenting with it. We did not bring you here to ask your permission."

"I see."

"As it happens, Doctor, you were our first choice for assisting us with our first terraforming trial," she told him. "You, and the Forest of Solace and Solitude. But the fact is, there is a short list of others whom we might approach, should you decide not to help - heads of state, lauded researchers, mystic leaders and the like. None of them are as knowledgeable as you. None of them have your experience. Frankly, none of them are as _stable_ and scrupulous as you, but we are determined to push forward with our work - we feel it is important enough."

"So, you're threatening him?" asked Martha, attempting to mimic the tranquil tone with which the other two had been conducting their business. It was a tranquillity which she did not feel.

"No," Vissa said evenly. "I am merely asking him if he is absolutely certain that he doesn't want to _be here_ and _supervise_ while we take our first tentative steps toward this potentially dangerous and nuanced field known as terraforming. Does he really want us to go ahead with this, without his ever fully knowing what happened? Whether we succeeded or failed? And how? And what problems arose, and how ethically and safely we solved them?"

Martha was rather impressed. Vissa seemed to know where the Doctor lived, that is, in his hearts and soul. It was manipulative, but her argument seemed ethical, and like most other things that she said, very reasonable. Moreover, her view of the Doctor was absolutely true: he would not be wont to walk away from something like this - not if it meant it would go on, outside of his hands.

He sighed with exhaustion, and Martha suspected, resignation. "Is there anything I could say to you, or anyone else, to make you abandon this project?"

"No, Doctor. I'm surprised you'd be so arrogant as to ask."

He turned and looked at Martha. "Fancy an extended stay?"


	4. Chapter 4

**To address some of the things that have come up in the comments (THANK YOU for leaving them, by the way): remember, the technology that Vissa and her peeps are using does not require that they be able to "find" Gallifrey. It can reach, basically, into the Doctor's mind, across his thoughts and across time, to reconstitute the things he has seen and touched. As long as the Doctor can find Gallifrey in his head, the terraforming is possible. In theory, anyway. As we will see, it's not always so simple.**

**Also, I don't think the Doctor got involved in this project because he necessarily suspects anything sinister (although he's always open to the possibility of sinister). He got involved because it ****could**** go very badly, considering the power they wield, and if it does, he wants to be there. He doesn't want them to do it, but as long as he can't stop them, he doesn't want them to do it without him!**

**And here we go! Enjoy, and please continue to leave reviews. I looooves them!**

* * *

><p><span>FOUR<span>

The anteroom adjacent to the all-black Tactile Room was incongruously ornate. And pink, like the hallway foyer through which they had been ushered the day before.

The walls were striped in velveteen, and a Victorian-looking divan was pressed against it, along with a floor-lamp adorned in pink fringe. A light-coloured wooden coffee table accompanied the ensemble, and facing it, high on the wall, there was a flat-screened television. The feed showed the "stage" where the holographic images appeared, and the row of seats with their backs to it. Martha watched the Doctor on the screen, pacing nervously back and forth, waiting for the event to begin.

She had been escorted to the room by one of Vissa's assistants, and the whole situation had made her immediately uneasy.

Vissa entered through a door to Martha's right. She was wearing the black jumpsuit in which they had first seen her, and she was carrying a package under her arm.

"Why am I in this room?" Martha asked her, without preamble.

"I beg your pardon?" Vissa asked, surprised.

"Why have you brought me to the sidelines?" Martha demanded. "I cannot watch the action from in here!"

"Miss Jones..."

"I experienced that thing, and I was only hooked up to it for like three minutes, and just thought about a teddy bear! The emotion that came over me was overwhelming - so much so, that I barely knew what to do with it. If you are going to force the Doctor to conjure memories of a lost planet, he is going to need someone by his side! That should be me!"

"I know," said Vissa, slowly and carefully, handing Martha the package she had been carrying. "That's why I brought you this."

"What is it?" Martha asked, taking it. She examined it for a way to open it, and found that it was nothing more than a paper bag folded over. She peered inside.

"Well, it's not a jumpsuit, but it's a start. It's black."

"I can see that. Black, what?"

"Clothing," Vissa confirmed. "It's some of mine. You and I are about the same size, and you cannot attend an official Tactile session wearing what you're wearing."

Martha looked down at her attire. She had put on a pair of jeans and a turquoise v-neck top today.

"Oh. Thanks," Martha said. "Sorry - I didn't mean to attack you."

"It's quite all right, I understand," Vissa said.

Something in Vissa's manner seemed slightly cagey to Martha. _Something_ about her always had, but in particular, now.

"What's that?" Martha wanted to know. She was annoyed, and hedged nothing in her voice.

"It's just... Miss Jones, I do understand why you want to be at his side, and I know that it's not only because you have experienced a Tactile session, and the Welling that comes afterwards. I know that it's not _just_ because intellectually, you know that the subject needs a support system."

Martha's face grew warm. She broke eye-contact. "No, it's not."

"It pains me to say so, but... the Doctor is about to undergo an upheaval to his emotional state," said Vissa. "He will need and want you by his side. You, and no-one else. You are his Companion - anyone can see that he depends upon you. But, Martha, I would ask that you not add to his burden by..."

"Is there a place where I can change into these clothes?" Martha interrupted, feeling that she knew what was coming next, and not wanting to discuss it.

"Yes, in a moment," Vissa sighed, giving up on her advice for now. "First, let me explain a few things about this process. You know the nature of memory, Miss Jones, you know that remembrances don't just subside because we want them to. And you gave us access to a part of your childhood that was, though emotionally-charged, nevertheless isolated to one solid object of approximately twelve inches in height and eight inches in depth and width. Understand?"

"Yes."

"And after it, you experienced the Welling. The sharp seism of emotion that shook you for a moment, then ebbed. But for a little while, it was uncontrollable, am I right?"

"Yes."

"The Doctor is going to conjure the image of something that covers just under eighty per-cent of a mountain range. Though he cannot replicate every inch of it, the _size_ of his conjuring will be enormous, and therefore..."

"...the size of his Welling will be enormous," Martha assumed.

Vissa nodded. "Paradoxically, I don't think the Welling will manifest as the intense weeping you experienced - I suppose this is a mercy, in its way. It will be less demonstrable, more pervasive, and deeper. You can expect extended periods of intense sadness and depression."

"All right," Martha said steadily.

"In addition, the memories of the Forest will be at the forefront of his mind, most of the time. This is what we need from him, in order to achieve a clear hologram of the Forest."

"Okay."

"And," Vissa said, now becoming slightly cagey again, and starting to walk about the room as though feigning contemplation. "There is an _extra measure_ that we may have to take, in order to minimise distraction to the Doctor's senses. It is possible that we won't have to do it, but if we do, you should know that it can cause some frustration and fear."

"Wait, what is this _extra measure?_ You mentioned it yesterday..."

"With the scrambling of his brain chemistry brought about by the mind-probing technology, the memories themselves and the possible frustration that could result from the extra measure, he will, Miss Jones, as you have already worked out, be in great need of support."

"Fine, bring it on, but what..."

"And we will need a purified consciousness from him," Vissa ploughed on. "Emotional and traumatic though it may be, we need his attentions concentrated on this operation. To cloud or confuse him with any doubt, or any difficult tasks of _relationship_ will hinder our objective."

For the first time since this conversation began, Martha felt a bit daunted. "So, am I not supposed to talk to him about anything other than the Forest?"

"You might find that that is all that is possible."

"Blimey."

Vissa gestured to a spot behind where Martha was standing. "And now, to answer your earlier question, if you step through that door, you'll find you can change in there. Please take your seat beside the Doctor as soon as you are changed, and we will get started."

* * *

><p>A marked door next to the television led into the Tactile Room, and Martha felt as though she were on display as she made her way across the front of the room to meet the Doctor, wearing Vissa's black, long-sleeved turtle-neck and leggings. He was still pacing, and though nothing had even been done to him yet, he already looked emotionally wrought.<p>

"Who are all these people?" she whispered as she approached him. The room was nearly full with folks who looked very much like Vissa, all wearing matching black jumpsuits.

"As a compromise to deal with some of my misgivings, Vissa agreed to include some specialists to observe," the Doctor whispered back. He gently took her arm, and ushered her to a seat, then took his place beside her. "I wasn't comfortable with all of the variables and nothing to catch the debris so... there are chemists here, mysticism experts, theoretical physicists, astrophysicists, and a few others."

"Vissa hadn't thought of this?"

"She doesn't know the makeup of the Forest, or why it was so effective, nor does anyone else. I grew up there, I know how weird it is, and even I can't fathom all of the possibilities. Of course it would have occurred to me..."

Vissa's voice cut across the Doctor's as she entered through the same door which Martha had just used. "Shall we get started, all?"

The milling about in the room died down as she made her way across the front of the auditorium-like space. The various specialists in the "audience" sat, as did the Doctor and Martha. It felt more than a little awkward for them to be sitting on the same level as the spectators, but facing them.

"First off, thank you all for coming," Vissa said to the gallery. "And will you all join me in thanking the Doctor and Martha Jones?"

A round of applause came from the spectators, and one man led a standing ovation which everyone quickly followed. The Doctor and Martha stood up once again as well, to reciprocate, and receive their applause while looking everyone in the eye.

When the restrained excitement died down, Vissa spoke. "Now, you've all been personally briefed on the nature of this operation, your role in it, and the ultimate objective. If you have questions, please refer to the packets you were given upon arrival," she said to the group. "Miss Jones, there is a copy under your chair."

Martha nodded, but did not bother to look.

"Shall we get started?" asked Vissa. "Doctor?"

He blew hard air through pursed lips. "S'pose I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"Lovely," she said, then clapped her hands lightly and made her way to the control podium at the side of the stage. The Doctor and Martha sat once more.

A low-frequency hum came from the holographic projection area. Martha didn't remember having heard this when she was being probed for her memories of Alexander the plush bear. Apparently, the Doctor didn't remember this hum either, because it seemed to startle him, and he looked up into the Veridic equipment with a surprised frown, then he looked at Martha.

This was not lost on Vissa.

"That sound you hear is called the Stabilising Pulse. It, like the black room, is supposed to keep your senses on an even-keel," she explained.

"It sounds like a form a hypnosis," Martha said.

"If you like," Vissa conceded calmly. "We didn't use it with you, Miss Jones, because we only had you under for a few moments for the purposes of a brief demonstration."

And there it was, a rather pleasant, lulling sound. It was not loud enough to drown out other noises, but it was definitely there, almost palpable, and so easy to listen to that Martha could absolutely see how it would have the same anti-distraction effect as the Tactile Room decorated all in black. More so, even.

"Doctor," Vissa said, her voice soft but official-sounding. "Solace and Solitude. Talk to me."

"What, now?"

"Yes, when you're ready."

The Doctor straightened himself in his chair, and paused only for a few moments. "It was a massive place, absolutely giant," he said, closing his eyes, talking without needing any further prompting. "To my small eyes, it seemed to go on forever. And for all of the dangers of the Forest, it might as well have been a different planet from our homes and our towns... treacherous and foreign, at least at first. But it was like magic. We knew that there were a thousand portals that could dump us into a different galaxy at the end of the universe, or at the beginning... but we didn't care. Actually, that was part of the attraction, part of the treacherous dark that pervades every forest. And, I suppose, children everywhere are alike..."

Martha watched the Doctor's face, unsure of what to do, how to help, how to support him. But, she noticed a rustling amongst the spectators, and turned to look. Many deep scowls adorned their faces, many a quizzical expression. There were a few people whispering and moving in their chairs, turning around to ask the opinion of the person behind them, of what they were seeing on the holographic "stage."

Martha looked at the hologram. A vague notion of a mountain range appeared in the space. It was misty and undefined, and at one moment it seemed to be snowing, and at another, there was a clear pinkish sky with an undulating sun.

"What's wrong?" the Doctor asked, hearing the commotion, opening his eyes. He shifted his body to look at the hologram, and Vissa stopped him.

"Doctor, no," she said. "Please don't look. We are frankly not sure what would happen."

He repositioned himself once more facing the crowd, rather reluctantly.

"What's going on?" he asked Martha.

"Nothing," she said. "Just... well, nothing."

"Martha."

"No seriously, I mean _nothing_," she said. "Nothing is coming into focus... right now, it looks like misty mashed potatoes. Slightly pinkish mashed potatoes."

"Perhaps," Vissa interjected, her voice, once again, cutting across the room authoritatively. "It would be prudent to give the Doctor a meditation period. Miss Jones received one as she was conjuring her childhood memory. I didn't think the Doctor would need one, but clearly, I was mistaken."

"Blimey, nothing like making me feel special," the Doctor muttered to Martha.

"I would ask that all remain silent, so as not to distract the Doctor from the task at-hand," Vissa said to the room. "Doctor, please close your eyes."

And much as she had done with Martha, Vissa's voice grew soft and lulling as she attempted to guide him into a deep, meditative state. She described the silence as enveloping, the heat in the room was something that he could absorb and with which he could become _one_. She gave him long periods to breathe, and try to forget that he was in a room full of people who were watching him intently.

Martha obeyed Vissa's request not to distract the Doctor, and she chose to watch the holographic field instead. For a while, as the Doctor's meditation became more profound, the image of the mountains faded, and nothing but haze remained, as though the Time Lord retained no sense-memory. And in the period when the Tactile Room was in total, almost oppressive, silence, some very strange things started to happen.

The image of a star appeared in the holographic field, and then exploded, then faded. A few cloudy humanoid apparitions became visible, seemed to rearrange themselves, and then fade away. A shapeless grey blob came into the field, morphing into a more defined cylindrical shape, then morphing into a blue police box. That faded as well.

Flowers. Light. More humanoids. Animals. Parts of the TARDIS' console. Articles of clothing. It seemed that the more immersed the Doctor became, in this meditative state, the more random the imagery, and the Doctor himself did not seem aware of it.

Martha looked at the gallery full of experts, and they watched the montage of the Time Lord's mental debris flow by with curiosity. They were trying not to make any noise by reacting, so they simply stared, and a few of them made notes of what they were seeing.

Before long, Vissa's voice cut across the room again. "Miss Jones, please bring him round. This is not working."

Martha squeezed the Doctor's hand. "Oi," she said. "Come back to us, Doctor."

He didn't react, so she squeezed harder. This time, he opened his eyes, blinked several times and looked at her. "Hi. Whoa, what happened?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, Doctor," Vissa assured him, before Martha could explain. "We're just having a bit of trouble getting going."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's quite all right." Vissa walked away from the podium and came to stand directly in front of the Doctor. "Let's take a bit of a break, to get our bearings. In the meantime, Doctor, I'd like to remind you for when we get started again, that this process works best as a _Tactile_ experience, hence the name of the room. Martha's plush bear so easily came to fruition because her memories of it are just as much about touch as anything else. See if you can call up any tactile memories of the Forest."

The Doctor sighed, and sat back in his chair. "It won't be easy."

"That, I do not doubt," Vissa said, bending to touch the Doctor's shoulder. "But I have faith that it can be done."

"Part of what helped me was emotion," Martha offered. "I tried to remember how I felt inside when I hugged my bear, and that helped me remember how he felt. His fur, his thickness..." She trailed off, reallising that she wasn't being particularly helpful.

"Okay," the Doctor said quietly. "I'll give it another go."

"Miss Jones, can I speak to you in private?" Vissa asked.

Martha looked at the Doctor. "Go," he said. "I'll be fine."

She stood and followed Vissa back into the anteroom.

"This is proving to be more difficult than we had anticipated," Vissa said, shutting the door.

"Well yeah, I can see that," Martha retorted. "The Doctor's mind doesn't work the same way as anyone else's. He's different from everyone who has ever been probed by your Veridic-what-have-you, isn't he?"

"Yes," Vissa conceded. "I'm not an expert, but I do know some things about Time Lords. My best, educated guess is that his Time Lord mind is not rooted in the Here and Now, the way yours is, or mine is. The nature of his existence is to be present in all times and places at once, in a manner of speaking. It's what makes Time Lord technology so powerful. It's what makes the Time Lord himself so powerful."

Martha caught a chill.

"That nature is causing debris from all over time and space to sneak in from his unconscious mind, and manifest alongside his conscious thoughts."

"So what can be done about it?" Martha asked.

"We are going to have to take the _extra measure_," Vissa said. "I honestly thought there was a good chance we wouldn't have to, because while I understood that the Doctor's mind would be a strong one, I hadn't considered this particular problem. I thought he would be able to aim his attentions more accurately, rather than less-accurately than another subject. I should have known better."

"You're telling me this because it means more emotional fallout," Martha confirmed, crossing her arms over her chest, and resting all her weight on one hip. "And you're not even going to tell him about it, are you?"

"Of course we will," Vissa corrected. "We cannot ethically take this measure without consulting the subject himself, but admittedly, especially now knowing what we know, the less mental debris he has, the fewer worries, the better. That's why I wanted to talk to you first, to let you know what I think the problem is."

"The problem is... his mind is not rooted in the Here and Now," Martha clarified.

"Yes. If we tell the Doctor what we saw, it will only cloud him, worry and distract him further, I think. We will tell him of the measure, but not specifically why. Are you all right with that?"

Martha considered. Then she sighed. "I'm not sure. Normally, I'd ask the Doctor what _he _thought, but I'm sensing that's not an option."

"I'm sorry to put you in that position."

"Do you swear that you are not harming him? That the emotional effects will wear off?"

"Yes. Eventually."

"Do you swear that this is something I can cope with? That the Welling as a result will not cause him to jump off a cliff? That I can comfort him?"

Vissa now took her own time to consider. "I can't promise that, Martha. But based on what I have observed of his relationship with you, I would strongly err on the side of... yes, you can handle anything he'll throw at you."

"Okay, one more question. What good will the extra measure do, if the Doctor's mind isn't rooted in the Here and Now? I'm guessing you can't dampen his brain without hindering the process, and I'm going to assume that you can't _force_ him to think completely in the Here and Now because he's not aware of what's going on... what's happening is on the subconscious level. Are you sure that taking an _extra measure _that will render him - what did you say? - _frustrated and frightened?_ - is going to be effective?"

"You're correct - we cannot dampen his brain - what's more, we _would _not. We cannot force him to think in any particular way, other than through meditation, which you have seen, has had limited success. The Doctor's brain is exceptionally resilient, and not very susceptible to suggestion, though he is experienced with deep meditation, that much was clear."

"Right."

"The only thing we can do is further limit sensory input and distraction."

"I see."

"As I have told you before, we need the Forest of Solace and Solitude to be at the forefront of his mind. Whatever is at the forefront of his mind, along with tactile memories, will have a better chance of manifesting as a hologram, and by extension, in the Birth Room as matter. The extra measure will not guarantee that debris from other times and places will not soak through, but it might give us a slightly clearer image, and we will just have to... well, _weed through_ the debris. It's not ideal, but if we have something more solid to work with, then it will be easier to ignore the debris, and discard it when the time comes."

"Fine. So what exactly is this _extra measure?"_


	5. Chapter 5

**Feeling daunted by a few of your reviews (which DOES NOT mean I want you to stop leaving them!), and REALLY hoping I can live up to your expectations! I have a feeling this story is going to go in a direction that is entirely different from what some of you are expecting. Make no mistake: this is a SHIP piece! There will be conflict and planets and stars and maybe some laser beams, yes, but **_**angst**_** and touch. That's where the drama is! ;-)**

* * *

><p><span>FIVE<span>

"Are you sure you're all right with the _extra measure_?" Martha whispered as they both reclaimed their seats facing away from the holographic field. They had just come from the anteroom where Vissa had detailed for the Doctor what they would like to do to him, and how. She had been much less forthcoming about _why_, but at least Martha felt that _she_ herself understood the reason.

In the room, the din was beginning to die down as all of the experts began to make their way back to their seats, preparing to watch the Doctor try again to manifest a clear image of the Forest.

"No, I'm not sure," he whispered back. "I know it'll only be temporary, but frankly, it sounds like hell to me."

"Then don't do it, Doctor!" she exclaimed quietly, but harshly. "Tell them _no. _You don't have to do everything they say."

"I know that, but... what was she saying about how it would expedite the process? She was cagey about it, but the idea of speed came through loud and clear. You know, cutting through the rubbish."

"Yeah there is that..." Martha trailed off.

"I just want this over with," he said, looking daunted and worried. "The sooner the better. If this will make it happen quicker, then I guess I'll get on-board."

Martha looked about to see if anyone was listening. Then, "Do you trust them?"

"No, not completely, but... I don't know if I have any choice," he said. "You know what'll happen if I back out - they'll just go ahead without me, for better or for worse. And if I tell them I'll still help but I won't do the _extra measure_, then it'll just take longer. From what Vissa said, _a lot_ longer."

They both contemplated for a moment.

"Martha, do you know what she's talking about, when she says that sensory input, for me, needs to be kept to a minimum in order to sharpen the holographic images?"

"Yes," Martha said.

"Did you _see_ something in the hologram I produced?"

"Shh," she urged. "Yes, a bunch of stuff. But none of it was terribly specific. That's the problem."

"I think I see," he said. And he did see. "So the process is just _slow_, is that the bottom line?"

"More or less," she said. "I'm not supposed to..."

"... cloud my mind with more sensory input? Issues to chew on?"

"Right."

He sighed. "Okay, I can accept that. As long as you're being kept in-the-loop, I'm fine with you being my eyes and ears. If they don't want me distracted... well, I'm not the most focused man who ever lived, so I have to do what I can. As long as I'm in this thing, I might as well do it right, right?"

"I suppose."

"Just..." he sighed heavily, then lowered his voice even further. "You won't lie to me will you? Promise me. Martha, if they're going to take this extra measure, I will be somewhat diminished... I'll need to be able to trust someone. Tell me that you will not lie to me."

She frowned. "Of course. I would never lie to you, no matter what," she promised. "Not when it counted."

"They will ask you to _omit details_," he told her. "It sounds like they already have. That's fine - whatever pushes this thing along. But no _lies_."

"No lies," she said. "You have my word."

"Oh, and..." he began, reaching into the pocket inside the breast of his jacket. He extracted the sonic screwdriver and handed it to her. "You take this. If something goes wrong and we need to reverse the measure, it can be done by aiming this thing at the Veridic probe above, on setting one-ninety-two. Just bring me back in here, sit me down, and fire."

"So you _have_ inspected the equipment, and you know it's safe?"

"I have, and I do... more or less. I didn't see any signs of tampering or adjustment. It's set to do exactly what they said it would do, and they invited me to verify it all myself," he assured her. "Do you remember which setting I said?"

She nodded. "One-ninety-two."

"Okay, good," he said with some finality, relaxing a bit. He smiled at her apologetically, then squeezed her hand. "Thanks for being here, Martha." He sat back in his chair with a bit of resignation.

Once again, Vissa gathered everyone's attention, and the hum of the holographic equipment filled the room with an artificial calm.

"Doctor, the measure will be taken as part of the Veridic probe's exploration. You probably won't even notice until it's over, all right?" said Vissa.

"Fine," he sighed. He closed his eyes and waited.

"All right now," Vissa recommenced, beatifically attempting to provoke the Doctor's memories. "In the next few minutes, one fifth of your sensory input will be removed, as you have already been advised. And as the measure is taken, as your distractions ebb away, think _tactile_, Doctor."

Martha looked at the hologram, and noticed once again a mountain range, somewhat clouded by the instability of the memory itself.

But over the next few minutes, as Vissa's voice guided the Doctor into another profound meditation, the image became sharp.

"Tell me about the Forest of Solace and Solitude, Doctor," she said. "Tell me how it _felt._ Can you remember when you touched the trees?"

"I can," he said. "During my year of Passage, the back of my head got to know the tree roots well as I slept. There was no comfort - no creature comforts, anyway - and no warmth. Just me and the roots and the bark and the ground... and the cold."

A tree began to grow out of the holographic floor, but it did not grow very tall - only five feet, perhaps. But the root that protruded from the ground beside it was detailed, bumpy and wrinkled like the back of an old woman's hand. A forest floor began to form with loose leaves and pieces of bark, coarse dirt and unknown things moving about. And there was a haze, but not like before. This was an icy, intentional haze, one that came directly from the Doctor's mind. It was a specific memory.

"When wild things crawled on me in the night..." he said, then he sucked in a breath and began to tremble.

Martha grabbed his hand, and assured him it was all right.

In the holographic field, large spiders formed on the floor of the Forest, and raced along on some unknown mission. A very detailed pattern of bark grew like tendrils up the tree, making the tree whole.

"...I clawed at the tree, trying to stand, trying to climb... "

The room seemed to be suspended in a bubble, a collection of a few moments in which no-one was sure whether the Doctor was going to continue to speak, or begin to scream. Everyone seemed to be a bit afraid of what they might see next.

"...but I think sometimes they were dreams," he said, and the spiders faded away.

There was a marked relaxation in the room.

"Doctor, when you opened your eyes upon the Forest in the morning, what did you feel?"

"Solitude," he said. "Just... solitude. Tree after tree after tree, all the same, none of them speaking. And yet, they were my friends. I found solace in them."

A forest, at last began to form on the stage as the Doctor's very tactile memory replicated itself. The folks in the gallery let out a palpable, excited sigh, but tried hard to restrain, so as not to distract the subject.

And for the first time since they had recommenced, a humanoid form appeared in the midst of the trees. It faded. Another one appeared, and faded. A swirling purple Vortex appeared, then faded.

Psychic debris was coming through, but even Martha could see a clear-cut difference between the Doctor's visual memories and his tactile ones. She could not argue with the results - the _extra measure_ was clearly working. She didn't quite understand how, given that the Doctor's eyes were closed and there had not been enough time to really deprive him of sensory input, but the proof was right there in front of them.

A small animal, some falling stars. More vague humanoid outlines and some unidentifiable, fast-moving thing going from left-to-right like a rocket.

A balloon-like entity appeared, it was purplish and undulating, and seemed to have ten or twelve tentacles reaching out of the bottom. It was mesmerising to see, like a sea creature, until a single square eye appeared, and from it, a violent laser ray shot out, and there was a silent explosion. At that point, the image disappeared - or rather, seemed to shatter. Everyone in the room reacted with an involuntary gasp, though the laser, like everything that had appeared in the field, was a hologram. Nevertheless, there were a few musings of "What was that?" from the gallery, but they quickly abated with a gesture from Vissa.

* * *

><p>Over the course of the next two hours, Vissa was able to help the Doctor shape the treetops, calling up memories of when he had, indeed, climbed the trees and touched the silken leaves. At one point, apparently, the Doctor had fallen from the tree, and he had worn his fingertips raw trying in vain to cling to a branch. At long last, the hard ground had come into contact with his face, and even the <em>taste <em>of the soil became part of the Doctor's memory.

"I think we should stop for the day, Doctor," Vissa said. "Miss Jones?"

Martha touched the Doctor's cheeks and said his name loudly, bringing him round.

"Oh," he said, and his eyes darted around in panic as realisation hit him. "Oh, God, I don't like this. Where are you?" Instinctively, his hands reached out to his left, toward the last place from which he had heard her voice come.

She took his hands before they could land squarely on her chest, and said, "I'm right here. Are you all right?"

"Blind as a bloody bat," he told her, with a sarcastically whimsical, matter-of-fact air.

"Yeah," she sighed. "I have the sonic, I can still..."

"No, I agreed to this. It's all right. Vissa, can Martha take me back to our room now?"

"Of course."

"Can you please get me the hell out of here?" the Doctor said to Martha with a grumbling urgency.

* * *

><p>"Do you remember how the room is set up?" she asked, her hand on his back, guiding him through the door of their state room.<p>

"Sort of," he said, stepping tentatively across the threshold. For a long moment, he just stood there, his shoulders a bit stooped, his face impassive. She examined him, and utterly did not recognise the dead look on his face. This was not her Doctor.

Or rather, it was her Doctor, only depressed. This was the Welling, the emotional fallout... she almost cried herself, thinking about it.

Then he asked, "Can you just help me get to the bed so I can sit down?"

"Sure," she said, shutting the door. "Maybe later you can take a blind-man's spin around the room and become familiar with the furniture and where everything is.

"Yeah, good idea," he said, offhandedly. Martha could tell he wasn't really giving it much thought.

She took him by the arm and led him to the bed. She turned him round so that he could feel the comforter against the backs of his legs. He sat down, stared blankly at a wall beyond Martha that he could not see, then proceeded to groan with melancholy and throw himself backward into a lying-down position, still with his feet on the floor. He clasped his hands across his stomach and lay there staring at the dark ceiling.

The room, as usual, was almost oppressively hot, so Martha, feeling awkward just standing there looking at him, moved over to the French doors, and opened them a bit, letting in some late afternoon breezes.

"That feels good, thanks," he said. "I guess I didn't notice it was so warm."

With that, he sat up and unbuttoned his suit coat, and peeled it off. He also loosened his tie and unbuttoned, then rolled up, his sleeves. He discarded the jacket on the bed beside him and lay back down again. Something about the angle at which it landed caused it to slide down onto the floor.

Martha moved to the bedside and picked up the jacket.

"Where are you taking that?" the Doctor asked.

"Oh," she said, surprised. "I guess... I'll drape it on the desk chair. To your left if you sit up."

"Okay," he said.

She did as she said she would, then something occurred to her. "Do you mind if I look in your side of the wardrobe?"

"No, why?"

She didn't answer straight away, but went to the wardrobe and peered into the left side. "You have two other suits hanging in here - two jackets, two pairs of trousers. And you have five shirts, five ties, and what look like two pairs of pyjama bottoms and two white tee shirts."

"And?"

"I'll arrange them for you," she said, pulling her own clothes out of the wardrobe, and tossing it all on the bed. "I'll put the brown suit on the left, along with the shirts that go with it, and the ties. I'll put the blue suit on the right, along with the shirts that go with it, and the ties. That way, at least you can dress yourself in the morning."

"Thank you."

"And your shoes... you have your white shoes on now. Don't you usually wear red shoes with the blue suit?"

"Yeah, the red shoes are still in my rucksack. Which is... I don't know where."

"I see it," she said. She crossed the room and extracted his red Converse from the rucksack, and then put them on the right side of the wardrobe. "They're on the floor of the wardrobe now, alongside your blue suit. And when you get undressed this evening, I'll put your white shoes on the left side, along with the suit you're wearing and your tie. We'll create a dirty-clothes pile next to the wardrobe for your shirt and socks and pants."

"Okay."

"Your pyjama bottoms and the tee-shirts are on the top shelf, along with your pants and socks. Okay?"

"That's fine, Martha, thanks. Where are you going to put your stuff?" he asked.

"I'll fold it up and put it all in the desk drawers. It'll be fine. It's not like we're moving in."

He took a big, deep breath, then let out an equally big sigh. "Okay." He rotated very slowly and arranged himself so that his head was on the pillow, and his feet were at the foot of the bed. His unseeing eyes were still fixed on the ceiling.

Martha went into the bathroom then, and announced, "I'm putting all of your toiletries back into your leather bag. They'll be on the right-hand side of the sink, so you can find them all."

"All right."

"Except for the razor," she added. She seemed to contemplate for a moment. "I'll put your razor on the little ledge that's right up against the wall, so you don't cut yourself if you put your hands in your toiletries bag looking for something."

"Fine."

And as she picked up a thin, expensive-looking can of hair mousse, she said, "And I guess I can help you with your hair in the morning. Can't say I have much experience coiffing for men, but there's a first time for everything, eh?"

"Must be."

"Do you want me to put the shampoo directly into the shower, or in your leather bag? It takes up a lot of room, so..."

"Martha?"

"Yes?"

"Can you please stop naming off all the things I can't do for myself now?"

She felt hot all over. Embarrassment? Anger? Self-chastisement?

"Sorry," she said, coming to the bathroom door. "I just want to make this as easy for you as possible."

"I know," he conceded. "But maybe later, eh?"

"Sorry," she whispered again. She silently padded across the bathroom floor and put the shampoo bottle in his leather bag. "I guess you'd rather be left alone."

"No," he said. "I would not. In fact... please don't leave me alone."

"Okay," she said, her voice rising in pitch without her even realising it. She stepped forward and took his hand once more, instinctively. She sat down on the bed beside him. "I'm here. I won't leave."

"Good," he said, closing his eyes. His hand tightened around hers, but the rest of his body seemed to relax. For a few moments, she just sat there and wondered what the hell to do next. It was this feeling that had led her to try and be "helpful," and arrange the Doctor's clothing and toiletries, thus bringing home to roost the fact that he was temporarily, but completely, blind.

"Did the images become clearer after they took away my sight?" he asked, rather quietly. His voice cut across the silence, though, much like the oppressed voices in the Tactile Room.

"Much more so," she assured him. "So it's not all for nothing. I think that your agreeing to this actually is speeding things along."

"Has Vissa given you a timetable?"

"Not yet," Martha said.

"Ask her tomorrow, will you?"

"Sure," she agreed.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me about what you saw."

"I could, and I will," she told him. "If you want me to. Vissa says it's not good for the process. If you know about the sorts of things that are bleeding across your mind into the hologram, then you will worry."

He nodded slightly. "I guess that makes sense. They blinded me - I don't want to negate the effects of that _in any way_ and make it all moot."

"_Does_ it make sense, Doctor?"

"It does, as far as I can tell."

"Good, because... I wouldn't really know. And I'm a bit afraid to ask you questions when Vissa's around."

"Understandable."

And when another long silence became a bit too much, and their hands were growing sweaty as they grasped each other, she said, "Doctor, what can I do for you? Please ask me for something."

He let go of her hand, much to her dismay. But then he asked, "Will you maybe just..." big sigh. "Lay down next to me and listen?"


	6. Chapter 6

**It will be tempting to read a lot into the Doctor's comments here, but they exist mostly to illustrate what he's going through. The universe in his mind, his anguish and melancholy, the reasons for his sadness and how Martha understands him. I hope you find it beautiful, but not too beautiful... ;-)**

**Also, if you work out what's going on, no spoilers, please, unless you want to PM me. :-)**

* * *

><p><span><strong>SIX<strong>

And so, she laid down, and listened.

"There are a thousand dangers in any forest, Martha," he said to her.

Side-by-side on the bed in their state room, feeling the heat rise, but the cool late-afternoon air waft in from the outside, they held hands. The Doctor, for once, grasped more tightly than Martha.

And she listened.

"Not just the possibility of getting lost forever, dying of hunger and dehydration, but myriad other things that can lure you in," he said with a noticeable, nervous gulp. "They can eat you. They can keep you. They can drive you mad." For the moment, his voice was flat and calm, almost hypnotic like the Stabilizing Pulse that emitted from the Veridic probe.

"Solace and Solitude had these Crackler Clouds that would come out at night."

"Crackler Clouds?"

"They were these ectoplasmic beings that would only emerge from their hiding places in the night, when it was cold and dark, and they would find any sentient being they could and... well, some people said they didn't _try_ to drive you mad, but nevertheless, if you swatted at them, they just got stronger and more persistent. If you could stick it out, ignore them, eventually they'd go away, but not before you'd lost your bloody marbles - or near enough."

"What did they do?"

"They would disperse a bit, surround your head while you were trying to sleep, and they would crackle, ever so slightly," he explained. There was a moment of silence, and then he clicked his fingers very lightly, over and over. And under his breath, he said, "_Pop, pop, pop, pop... pop pop! Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop,pop..."_

"Ugh, that sounds horrid. Like Chinese water torture."

"It was merely irritating at first, and then it would get louder, then softer - right in your ear. They'd get just soft enough that you thought you could sleep, thought they'd gone away, then they would pick up again. They would startle you as you nodded off, and start crackling. Like two nervous little feet, lightly on a hard wood floor. Until you'd finally lose patience and swatted again, and they would know they'd got to you, and they'd start all over. The only way to make them stop was..."

"... to try and ignore them."

"Yep," he said. "In the circumstances it's all you could do. If you have backup, there are ways to get around them, get away from them, disperse them, but when you're alone..."

"I see."

"And having to lie there awake at night was hard enough, Martha..." he said, his voice breaking a bit, his hand bearing down on hers. "Thinking about all the other things out there that could... but then, listening to _that_, knowing that there's nothing you can do until they just _decide_ to leave you alone... it just brings home the fact that you have no-one."

She definitely heard a break in his voice then. He let go of her hand and used it to cover his eyes and conceal the fact that they were filled with tears.

"Oh, Doctor," she whispered, turning on her side. She took his hand away from his face, and said, "No, don't do that. It's all right - no need to hide."

He squeezed back, then placed his hand, and hers, on his chest. "Don't leave me."

"No," she insisted. "I said I wouldn't. You can trust me."

He took a long, deep, ragged breath, and let it out again. His breathing was slow and unstable, but finally, he began to speak again.

"And that's not even the half of it."

"I can't imagine," she lilted.

"That's just one of the things I learned how to handle," he added. "Every forest in the universe has its unique forms of torture. Some of them, no-one lives to tell about. It's what makes the forest so alluring, so mysterious."

"I have never found forests alluring," she commented.

"You're a city girl... maybe you've never had occasion to think about it," he said, his voice stabilising again. "But it's in all of us - just about every being in the universe. It's archetypal, the pull to answer the call of the forest. They are dark and dangerous, and hold God-Knows-What. There's something in our fundamental nature that craves that primal experience, even if it means... terror. Or never coming home again."

"Is that what you experienced? Terror?" she asked, softly.

"Every night," he admitted. "That's part of the lesson. Solitude. Solace in Solitude. But also... deep, crippling _fear,_ Martha. But if you can come out on the other side, you are changed. The forest will facilitate metamorphosis, if you let it."

"Like a cocoon?"

"Exactly like a cocoon," he agreed. "That's why so many fairy tales take place in forests. What's lurking in there appeals to our imagination, even as children. Especially as children. Hansel and Gretel go into the forest, fight a horrible witch, and emerge much stronger. Snow White ventures into the forest, and by the time she's finished, she has almost literally _died_ and been reborn."

"I'm starting to see."

"That's what the Academy was for, for metamorphosis," he said. "When you enter, you're a child. When you emerge, you're a Time Lord. But it's not all about books and professors. It's not even all about portals and TARDISes and Vortexes."

"It's about the soul," she whispered.

"It's about the soul," he echoed. "If you can live through the fear - embrace it, even - face the shadows, answer the call of the forest, then you can make Solace and Solitude part of your soul. Get your Zen on. Assimilate the darkness. And then, you're ready to fly. To wield Time and Space and see across the web of existence, to pass your exams and _use_ all of that stuff they taught you."

"But you failed your exams," she pointed out.

"Yes, I did," he agreed. Then, the Welling reared its ugly head again. His eyes filled with tears, and his free hand went to his forehead instinctively. He held his breath to keep from sobbing. "Maybe I never was ready. Still not," he heaved out, with effort.

"Don't say that," she whispered.

"Seven hundred years pretending..." he croaked.

"No, Doctor, no."

"My TARDIS is stolen, and I've done nothing but violate the Time Lords' laws about interfering," he told her. "The Forest..."

"Is long in the past," she assured him. "And don't for a minute think that passing some silly exam is what makes a good Time Lord."

He wept, and she let him. She squeezed his hand tightly, and lay her head down on his shoulder.

She gave him time to _embrace_ the shadow, the emotion that came over him. She reckoned the Welling was natural and healthy, and there was nothing she could say to help him release it - he just needed to live through it, much like his Passage year in the Forest.

She marvelled at the effect this whole business was having. On an ordinary day, the Doctor flouted the laws of Time and Space if need be, and was the first to admit that he ran from the Time Lords because they were too stuffy, too black-and-white, peaceful to a fault. He was not, in the least, ashamed of having failed his exams, nor was he ashamed of the fact that he had stolen his vessel.

It was tempting to analyze him, and to think that the emotional turmoil he was experiencing now was related to the fact that the Forest, the very thing that was, as Vissa had said, _at the forefront of his mind,_ was bringing about a succession of logical thoughts, leading him to the conclusion that he is inadequate as a Time Lord.

It was also tempting to think that his blindness was making him feel inadequate all-around, dependent upon her to help him get dressed, comb his hair, take a shower, shave... and perhaps someday soon, something like that would occur. They had been warned that the _extra measure_, the forced blindness, would cause fear and frustration and would exacerbate the Doctor's Welling, but she assumed that it would come over time, once he had lived for a bit with the handicap, and had had time to miss _seeing._

But actually, Martha understood that the reasons for this incredibly dynamic, energetic, and powerful man holding her hand and weeping beside her, they were much less rational than that. The emotion just _was_, and would stay, until the Forest of Solace and Solitude was ready for terraforming, and the Veridic probe could stop mucking about with the Doctor's brain chemistry. Quite simple really, if somewhat daunting.

But if Martha Jones could do anything, she could stay at the Doctor's side. She was fooling herself if the voices in her head said that she felt anything for him any less than profound, hot, violent, agitated _love. _Plus, even before she'd met him, she was someone who wanted to catch and release the pain in others - there was no better place for her in the universe than right here, right now.

* * *

><p>The Doctor sat on a barstool in the bathroom, facing the mirror. Though, as Martha progressed through the process of helping him shave, she couldn't help but wonder, why bother with the mirror?<p>

"You know, you don't really have to do this," she said, dipping the razor in warm water to shake off the excess shaving cream. "I rather like you with a bit of scruff."

"I'm not going to look like a wandering vagrant just because I'm suddenly blind," he told her. "And until I learn how _not_ to slit my own throat, I'd rather have you do it."

"Okay," she said. "Now, stop talking for just a few minutes. I have to get your neck. The Adam's Apple will prove to be an interesting task."

For a time they were silent while she finished the job.

And Martha felt just a little guilty for taking pleasure in it. This was happening because he, her best friend and the man she loved, was unfortunately debilitated from doing this himself, but after all these months, she felt so grateful to have been let in.

It was not just about being allowed to touch him, help him and hold his hand. It was about getting to see what was beneath the surface, that little dip into his psyche. She had got to know a little of what he went through during his Passage year. He had talked about his education, his planet, his childhood - he _never _did that, except for once, very reluctantly, when she had forced it out of him. By contrast, last night, he had begged her not to leave him, he had asked her to listen. Perhaps the insecurities he had confessed were nothing that plagued him on a daily basis when he was in his right mind, but no matter how irrational or small, doubt was doubt. And two days ago, she hadn't even _known_ that there _was_ a Passage year. He had let her be part of his pain and fear, and that was, in spite of everything, amazing to her.

But still, there were a hundred other things she was dying to ask him about. There usually were, but the debris that came from his mind across the holographic field just added to the list. People and heavenly bodies, pets, perhaps? Fast-moving starships and even an image of a rounded, squid-like ship, destroying other things. Oh, the things he must have seen in his long, long existence, and the loss he must carry.

Like most things in life with the Doctor, she was forced to hold back. Vissa had said that talking to him about the rubbish inside his head would distract him, and the Doctor himself had reinforced this. He did not want the process to be hindered in any way, or the blindness would be in vain. Not to mention, asking questions of him had rarely ever got her anywhere; he had always played his past rather close to the chest.

And as she looked into his eyes then, dragging a warm cloth across his jugular, knowing he couldn't see her, she wondered what else was in there? Who are all those people, the images that come and go amongst the trees when his memories manifest?

* * *

><p>Martha held his hand as they walked down the hallway, which the Doctor felt was even more oppressively warm than when they had first arrived, and which he remembered as an unpleasant pink.<p>

He was hyper-aware of her, of his hand in hers, of the sweat he could feel forming between them. He could hear her breathing whenever she was not talking, and he could hear her footsteps, and how her clothing swished ever-so-slightly when she walked. She was making an effort to speak to him this morning more than usual, sensitive to the fact that he could not see her, and felt somewhat lonely in that fact. She had rearranged his clothes to make them easy to match. She had used her fingers to arrange his hair. She had shaved him. She had _listened_ to him last night, talk about the Forest, all forests, and the darkness within. By extension, he had let her into the darkness within himself, and he had cried. He had begged her not to leave him or let go, and she had not. She had been steadfast and encouraging, understanding and kind.

He was not surprised, just impressed. He wanted to let her know she was brilliant and doing an amazing job, but he could not. He couldn't even manage to say _thanks_ just now, and so, he tried to put on a braver face in the morning. He tried to make her believe that the depression that he felt last night had dissipated. He did not want her to think that she was doing him no good, and he did not want to let her know that he still felt a crushing sadness, the Welling, as they called it, even now. The one bright spot to him was _her,_ and he wanted her to remain bright, and not daunted nor discouraged by what the Veridic beam was doing to him.

Unexpectedly, he felt a sob boiling up from his gut. It flowed like a blob of bile up through his chest and neck, until it threatened to burst from his eyes and mouth.

He sucked in a sharp breath and feigned a cough to compensate.

"All right?" she asked, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah..." he vamped. "Just inhaled some saliva or something."

"Good morning, Doctor, Miss Jones," Vissa's voice said. "I trust you had a satisfactory night's sleep?"

"Yes," Martha said, covering for the fact that the Doctor had fallen asleep early to escape from the memories, but had awakened intermittently all night, never quite falling into a deep sleep. "Thank you."

"Doctor, you're looking quite dapper this morning," Vissa complimented. "I see you're accommodating your handicap nicely."

"Thanks," he said, sticking his chin out exaggeratedly and straightening his tie. "I had a bit of help."

"Indeed," Vissa said sprightly. "And Miss Jones, I see that you're still wearing black."

"Er, yeah."

"Thank you, but there's no need anymore, now that the Doctor's sensory input has been limited."

"Right, now that you've made him blind," Martha said flatly, irritated with the euphemism.

"In the future, please feel free to dress as you like."

Martha looked Vissa over and noted that she was wearing a straight light pink dress that looked incredibly uncomfortable in its heaviness and number of gold buttons.

"Thank you, I'll bear it in mind," Martha said. She was relieved; this place was stifling. Tomorrow, it would be a tank top and shorts.

"Are you ready to begin anew?" asked Vissa. Not waiting for an answer, she continued, "Please come in."

Once more, they took their seats in front of the holographic field. Once more, the humming commenced, then the meditative period, followed by the Doctor's voice describing more of the Forest of Solace and Solitude. Today, he seemed to focus more on the soil, recounting a time when he attempted to use the Forest's floor to plant a few crops for his survival. With no tools, he was forced to dig with his bare hands, and become very familiar with the soil as a tactile experience.

There were sharp images of trees, slightly more vague mountains in the background. The bark, having formed from the Doctor's memories yesterday, was there, along with the waxy leaves and treetops, gnarly roots and the superficial coverings on the ground from when he had fallen from a tree. But now, the soil became the high point, and all of the sharpest images seem to form on the floor, in a place where Martha basically could not see.

Though it was still a fascinating process to watch as images came to fruition, as though they were living beings. Martha mused internally over how they once _had _been living beings, some of them, and how they perhaps would be again.

As expected, debris began to seep in. Outlines of humanoid forms, internal workings of a clock. The image of a city came and went, fading into the distance. Text in Gallifreyan. Food. More strange animals. All of it rather cloudy, each item would blink in and out over and over, sometimes staying for a few seconds, sometimes longer.

The purplish, throbbing, squid-like ship with the square eye appeared again. Its definition was not as sharp as that of the trees, but was markedly sharper than that of the rest of the shrapnel from the Doctor's unconscious mind. This time, it seemed to fly, and after a few seconds, the images around it became clearly that of an urban area, someplace densely populated. And indeed, next, humanoids could be seen fleeing from the purplish thing as it fired its lasers through the eye, devastating everything in its path. People were felled and/or disintegrated by the beam. Homes exploded, destruction rained down upon everything... and then the entire disturbing tableau disappeared, as though it had never been there.

In very low tones, once again, Martha noticed tittering amongst those watching. She could hardly blame them; it had been quite upsetting to see, and to boot, it was the only thing, other than Forest, that had any kind of strong definition, that seemed to assert its own importance.

Martha frowned deeply in worry. Why had this ship, and only this, made two appearances in the holographic field? What was it about this particular "battle" that weighed heavily enough on his mind to push its way through into the images of the Forest? Wouldn't this be something she should talk to him about, perhaps so as to help him purge it from his worries, to help clear the field for more a more concentrated and defined Forest? Could this be something that was adding to the depression? Could it be some long-buried memory of the Time War that was bubbling from the subconscious into the conscious mind? Shouldn't she help him deal with it?

But then, things went back to the way they were. Beatific nature, the Doctor's semi-hypnotised voice, clouds of things coming and going in a silent room. For a couple of hours, this is how it proceeded.

Until, that is, a new image formed among the trees. It was steady. It did not undulate nor seem to travel across the space. Like the purple-balloon spaceship, its level of clarity was somewhere between the sharp trees and the dim incidentals. It seemed to be implying its own importance in the same way.

It was the unmistakable image of a female figure. The smooth skin of her back was clearly defined, punctuated by a straight spine up the middle. Her sides tapered down into a graceful thin waist, then flared out again like an hourglass, into beautifully rounded hips. The beginnings of her buttocks were hinted at, but the image hesitated at offering the rest of the view. There were no arms, no shoulders.

And then the image seemed to turn one-hundred-eighty degrees, as if she were on a spinning Lazy-Susan. At this point, the spectators were afforded the image of the woman's neck and jowls, and just the slightest insinuation of a mouth.

An unpleasant tingle formed in the pit of Martha's stomach. It was a familiar feeling.

She had never been naive enough to tell herself the lie that the Doctor did not have a romantic past. For God's sake, he was _centuries _old, and she had met him a matter of months after his losing a Companion whom he had obviously loved very much. But seeing how clear the image was, knowing that the Tactile Room's equipment worked much better with _tactile_ imagery, knowing that what was manifesting were things that the Doctor had _touched_... it made her sick with jealousy, followed by guilt.

And these feelings were followed by despair. Not only was she forced to see the crystalline image of a woman on whom he had laid his hands, but she likely would never be able to talk to him about it.

With that, the image became a scab on Martha's brain.


	7. Chapter 7

**So delighted to see so many folks "following" this story. If you are following, please also review! I say this a lot, because it's true: reviews are the thing that keep me writing! **

**And, if you start to figure out what's going on, no spoilers please... though that may not happen until the following chapter! If you really cannot keep it in, go ahead and PM me - I would welcome it!**

**On with the show!**

* * *

><p><span>SEVEN<span>

As the next few hours passed, the womanly figure appeared twice more in the holographic field, once more quite clearly, and once more in the background, almost as a barely-noticeable apparition.

But Martha noticed.

As for the purplish, tentacled spaceship, it appeared once more, also rather pale and abstract, but nevertheless, it was clearly the same ship she had seen twice before, brought forth from the fertile and strange mind of the Doctor.

A literature professor at university had once advised Martha, in her travels and travails through an English-language novel course, that if something appears three times, it is probably important, and one should take note. He had been referring to symbolism in the novel _Billy Budd,_ intended (apparently) to lead the reader to the conclusion that Billy Budd is a Christ figure_._ Martha never really saw it, in that particular instance, and in general, never really "got" symbolism literature.

But it was a useful tip, one that stuck with her, and it seemed a poignant piece of advice today. The figure of the woman, and the purple spaceship, these were the only two things, other than parts of the Forest itself, that had appeared three times in the holographic field - the woman having appeared three times in one session. They _must_ be significant. They must be unrelenting memories, something pervasive and painful that had him, and wouldn't let go.

And if Vissa wanted him focused on the Forest, then wouldn't it be in everyone's best interest to bring these things out into the open and deal with them, thus purging them from the Doctor's worried mind (more or less)?

The Tactile session went late, touching the outskirts of evening. As it ended, Martha said to the Doctor, "I'm going to go have a word with Vissa. Want me to get someone to take you back to our room?"

The Doctor sighed. "I'm not an invalid," he said, without malice. "But yes, that would probably be smart."

"Are you going to be okay for a bit on your own?"

"Of course, just... please don't be too long."

* * *

><p>"Vissa!" Martha said as she raced through the door to the pink plush antechamber.<p>

"Yes?" Vissa said, turning around just before walking through another door.

"Can I have a word?"

"Of course," said the white-haired woman. She looked about a bit. "Where's the Doctor?"

"I got him an escort back to our state room," Martha said. "I was wondering..."

She stopped in her tracks. She hadn't thought this through. This would be a delicate conversation. How should she even begin?

Even if Martha brought up the purple spaceship as well, if she mentioned that she felt the image of the woman should be discussed with the Doctor, Vissa would see right through it. She had gleaned from some nuance in Martha's body language the greater reasons behind her initial unwillingness to let the Doctor go through the holographic process on his own. Simply put: she could sense Martha's feelings for him. She would assume that Martha had ulterior motives in wanting to deal with the woman's image.

And as this occurred to her, she wondered if she could be entirely certain that she _didn't_ have ulterior motives.

Yes, discussing it with him _might_ purge the Doctor's mind of something distracting, thus possibly speeding up the process and truncating his unpleasant tenure as a blind man. As Martha knew, the Doctor was anxious to get this over with.

But it would also answer some questions _for Martha_. It could be an opening for her to discuss aspects of his past that they had both been reluctant to address. It would allow her to touch, even if vicariously, some aspect of the Doctor's romantic side, which she had never, ever seen. Apart from a hasty kiss in a life-death situation, nothing she had ever longed for in her relationship with him had come to fruition. She supposed that there was a little part of her that wanted to know more about his sensuality, his inner and past life, even if it was a life had with someone else, and even if it proved painful to hear. It was, she supposed, a non-constructive, morbid curiosity, of which she should simply let go. But she also understood that this curiosity was human nature.

As to what good could come of it? Not much for her, if she was honest, and the good to him was uncertain.

So what would she say to Vissa?

Well, there was the matter of the spaceship. Perhaps she could use this as a litmus test...

"Yes, Miss Jones?" Vissa asked, shifting her weight impatiently to the other hip. "You were wondering?"

Martha entered the antechamber properly and shut the door behind her. "I was wondering about that image that we saw, the one of the purplish-coloured spaceship, causing all sorts of mayhem and destruction in the Doctor's mind."

"What about it?"

"Well, it's turned up three times, over the course of two different days, and I just think it's probably significant."

"I would imagine that almost everything we've seen manifest from his mind is somewhat significant."

"But this has been repeated," Martha argued. "And it's not a pretty image. It's all about devastation, people running for their lives, screaming, terrified, trying to hide from imminent death. It's clearly something that bothers him. I mean... even if we hadn't seen the spaceship three times, I could have told you that something like that would bother him. That's just how he is - his brain picks at old wounds. And you said yourself that the strongest manifestations come from whatever is at the forefront of his mind."

Vissa stepped back into the room in her turn, and she too shut the door. "I did say that. It's true."

"Would the fact that it has manifested three times mean that it's... I don't know, _more_ at the forefront than the other debris we have seen? And the fact that it can't possibly be a _tactile_ memory, and yet it's almost as clear as the tactile experiences?"

Vissa seemed to think about this, and weigh her answer. "It probably would."

"And don't you want him focused on the Forest?"

"I do," Vissa said, turning her head suspiciously. There was a pause, and then, "You want to talk to him about it?"

"I think it's best."

"Absolutely not," Vissa said calmly.

"Excuse me?" Martha asked, her tone pointed and suddenly _very _annoyed for having been shut down so quickly.

"I said, absolutely not. If you mention it to him, it will bring the event to his conscious mind and it will further cloud the channel between his memories of the Forest and the hologram. It will cause..."

"If he is in pain..."

"He will be in more pain if you force him to bring it to the surface," Vissa insisted, taking two steps toward Martha. "Trust me, Miss Jones. If there is a wound that is partially healed, why would you want to open it again?"

"If the wound is infected, then it needs treatment! It won't go away just by ignoring it!"

Vissa threw up her hands in exasperation. "Why do humans always think that dragging things out into the open will make them better?"

"Why do you think that denying things, burying psychological trauma, will make them better?"

"Because I know the technology, Miss Jones," Vissa told her. "I know how it works. And as it happens, I _do not_ think that burying psychological trauma is the best way to handle it, on a regular basis. That is why, as I have told you, we are attempting to terraform the Forest of Solace and Solitude. To help patients deal with their trauma, to help them find solace in their solitude, to harness the healing powers of the Forest and..."

"So he just has to suffer the Welling, and the scars on his brain, while you come up with a cure for _everyone else?_ The Doctor is just going to white-knuckle it through a bunch of your rubbish for the greater good?" Martha shouted. "Because I'm pretty sure I've seen him do enough of that."

"Miss Jones, we are talking about _weeks_, maybe even _days, _in the life of a man who will likely live millennia. He will survive this bit. Now, if that's all, then I have somewhere to be."

She did not wait for Martha to answer before leaving.

Her hasty departure and dismissal of Martha's concerns was infuriating, and Martha was more than a little tired of being under emotional lock and key. Furthermore, she was under _no_ obligation to do _anything_ that Vissa said.

* * *

><p>Outside their state room, Martha hesitated. She knew that she would open the door into a tableau of claustrophobic peaches and yellows, into an increasingly unbearable heat, and into a room pervaded by the black smoke of depression. She was not looking forward to it.<p>

But when she entered, she was happy to find that the Doctor had taken an outlet. Much as she had found him a couple of nights before, he was standing on the balcony with one foot crooked behind the other, his face bathed in light from the gigantic moon.

She stepped outside, and took in the brisk air.

"It must be waxing by now, yeah?" he asked, without saying hello.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"Half?"

"Mmm, more like three-quarters," she said, gauging how much of the heavenly body was showing. "So, is the moon of this planet gigantic, or is just really, really close?"

"Both," said the Doctor. "It's closer than any moon of any planet in existence, and it's also slightly larger than the planet itself."

"Does anything live there?"

"No, it has no atmosphere and no water. Also, it's surface is unstable," he explained. "Anything that walks on it falls into sinkholes every five feet."

Martha squinted at it. "How does its gravity not pull us out into space?"

"Have you stepped on a scale since you've been here?"

"No."

"Its gravity _does_ pull at everything on the planet a little, because of its proximity," he told her. "You'd probably find that you weigh about three-quarters as much as you do on Earth or in the TARDIS. But like I said, the moon is unstable; there are sinkholes everywhere, and there is only a crust and a rather gaseous mantle. The core of the planet is all gas. Therefore, its gravitational pull is less than the planet's."

"Because it's less dense?"

"Yep."

"Hunh," Martha said with a smile. "I just learned something about astrophysics."

"Yes, you did," he answered, but there was no smile. Hers faded, and she studied him for a few moments. He wore an oddly blank look on his face. Blindness and melancholy had taken its toll on his usually sprightly features.

"Are you staring at me?" he asked.

She looked away, blushing. "Yes, how did you know?"

"I don't know. I just know you."

"Well enough to know where I'm looking?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Yes, sometimes."

She gulped. "I see. I'm sorry. You just don't look like yourself right now," she told him. "And as usual, I'm marvelling at how much stuff fits in that brain of yours."

There was another pause during which she thought, _if I don't say it now, I never will._

"Doctor, speaking of how much stuff is in your brain..." and then, like before, she paused, wondering if she'd really thought it through.

Had she examined her motivation closely enough? Was she about to cloud his brain for selfish reasons? Was she just testing the waters to see what would happen, so that sometime soon, she could ask about the image of the woman? Was she doing this ultimately to get closer to the Doctor, or was she doing it in _his_ best interest? Was she doing it in the interest of the project, and getting through it more quickly, which is what he wanted?

And most importantly, was she just doing it because Vissa told her not to?

Well, ultimately, Martha had very little _personal_ interest in the project; her interest was in the Doctor, and his well-being. And in her experience, dealing with things made them go away faster than doing nothing about them. If there was something on his mind, causing him anguish, then she wanted to purge it as quickly as possible for him.

"There's something disturbing that keeps appearing in the holograms you are creating," she began.

He smirked. "Are you supposed to be talking to me about this?"

"If you don't want me to, I won't," she said. "But it has popped up three times now, both yesterday and today. And it is the only thing that has come up more than once. Well, not the only thing, but the only thing that... anyway, it's rare, as it turns out, that debris soaks through from other parts of your mind while you're concentrating on the Forest, more than once."

"Really?" he asked, his mouth downturned with a curious _hunh_. "Interesting."

"Anyway, I just thought I should bring it up, because if it keeps coming back, that means it's big, and probably painful. And it won't help, in the long run, if you're trying to keep the Forest at the forefront of your mind."

"True," he said. "Although from the evidence, I'd say it's probably bothering you more than me."

She sighed. "Okay, then. I won't mention it again."

"No, that's not what I meant," he said. "If it's bothering both of us, it definitely needs to be dealt-with, don't you think?"

"Yeah," she said. "Are you sure? Because Vissa said it would only scatter your attentions further."

"Are you trying to talk yourself out of it now?"

"No," she insisted. "I want to tell you. But I want to do it... _for you_."

"And I want you to do it... _for you_. So do it. Terraforming project or not, we are still friends, we're still a team. Just because someone else wants to keep me in a bubble, does that mean we let them, no matter what?"

"No."

"I mean, yeah, to a certain extent, we follow instructions. But when something comes up that's truly important, we look after _each other_, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So, what did you see?"

She described the image of the purple, squid-like ship that first shot lasers out of its rectangular eye, and blew up something unseen, causing all those in the Tactile room to gasp. She then described the even sharper image of the same ship flying through what seemed to be a residential area, destroying buildings, leaving destruction in its wake. She described the running and screaming and fear she had seen on the faces of people fleeing for their lives. She described the third image, much less clear, though, unmistakably the same undulating ship.

"Tentacles?" he asked.

"Yes, or something akin."

"Purple?"

"Yeah, like... neon purple. Neon lavender. Kind of... lit-up. Does that make any sense?"

"No, sorry."

"It doesn't?"

"No."

"So that means..."

"It means I have no idea what you're talking about."

"How could you not? How could something _that_ distinctive have come from your mind, and you don't remember anything about it?"

"I have no idea."

* * *

><p>The phenomenon of the purple ship did not seem to bother the Doctor. That is, not any more than anything else at the moment. The fact was, at this time, his own existence bothered him; he was dwelling on his inadequacies as though he were right back in that time, in that place, in the Forest, attending the Academy, about to fail his exams...<p>

And in contrast to this morning, he made no pretentions for Martha's benefit. Maybe it was the time of day or his extra-dark mood, but just now, he didn't mind that she knew he was feeling awful. As they had dinner in their room, sitting across from one another at, for lack of a better word, a room-service trolley, he simply pushed vegetables round his plate and poked holes in the slab of meat he was given.

"Are you afraid you won't like whatever you stab?" Martha asked, knowing better, of course.

"Partly," he said. "Who gives a blind man a plate and just says _mixed vegetables_?"

"Well, there's some kind of round orange thing... looks a lot like carrots julienne, but tastes like dirt on the inside. Fortunately, the sauce over top of it is amazing. There's also, some long green things in the mix, and..."

"It's all right, Martha," he interrupted her, quietly. "I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten all day," she counselled. "Can you at least choke something down for the sake of your own health?"

He shook his head. "I'll eat tomorrow."

She put down her utensils and focused on him. "What's bothering you? Anything specific?"

"No... just..." he sighed heavily, not answering.

"The usual?"

"The Welling, I guess."

"Yeah," she whispered.

"Martha, I'm sorry I dragged you into this," he whispered back. "I never wanted..." At that point, his voice broke, and he choked down a sudden sob. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

This hitch in his voice, the sad "catch" that meant he was stifling something huge, it always hurt her. She had caught him doing it several times during the day today, during breaks when he would swallow extra-hard, just like now, or cough to hide his emotion. It was like a punch to the gut for her.

"It's all right," she said, standing up. "You just worry about _you_, yeah? If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be."

She took a position behind him. She reached down the front of his jacket and unbuttoned it, then pushed the brown pinstriped garment down his shoulders. He shrugged it off, with a sigh, and she draped it carefully over the back of his chair. She then placed her hands on his shoulders. She squeezed, gauging.

The reaction was exactly what she had been hoping for. He groaned ever so slightly, and leaned his head back against her. She repositioned her thumbs and squeezed again, and miraculously, he seemed to relax.

She repeated the action over and over, readjusting every few seconds, giving him the best shoulder-and-neck massage as she knew how. His head remained resting against her, his unseeing eyes shut, and he seemed to melt into her touch. His breathing equalised, and once in a while he would let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Martha, that's amazing," he groaned after a few minutes.

"Good," she whispered.

She ran her hands tightly up his neck, then began tugging at the well-cropped hair at the back of his head.

Again, he moaned a little, and she started feeling courageous. She buried both hands in the dark, spiky mass, and pulled them through, combing the strands between her fingers.

"Oh, my God," he whispered.

"See?" she lilted, repeating what she had just done with her hands. "It just takes a little bit of reaching out... and then you see that there is nothing to worry about. You don't need to feel the Forest at every moment of the day - all that does is drive you mad, make you feel small. You have loads of other things in your life..."

She paused. She wasn't sure if she should keep talking.

"Mm, yes?" he urged, slurring.

"You don't need to feel small - you have all of Time and Space. You have millennia of adventures to look forward to. You have me. You have the TARDIS..."

"I do."

"Yes, you do. It's all right, Doctor. Just let it go for now."

He sighed and resettled in his chair, leaning his head once more against her. "Okay, Martha, okay. Let it go..."


	8. Chapter 8

**More angst!**

**Once again, if you start to work out the game, don't spoil it!**

**And, if you are reading, then review! :-D**

* * *

><p><span>EIGHT<span>

The following morning, Martha ushered an unusually sullen Doctor into his seat in the Tactile Room, just before Vissa called her discreetly into the antechamber.

"Miss Jones, I would like to apologise for so abruptly exiting our conversation yesterday," she said. "I didn't mean to be so... militant."

"Apology accepted," Martha said, with a nod, appreciating the small olive branch.

"But I must ask," Vissa ventured, shyly. "Did you mention the spaceship to the Doctor?"

"Yes," Martha admitted.

"And? What did he say, if you don't mind my asking?"

"He said he didn't know what I was talking about."

"Honestly?"

"Well, I'm being honest," Martha shrugged. "I'm telling you what he said."

"But was the Doctor being honest?"

Martha thought about this. It never occurred to her to wonder whether the Doctor was hiding something about the spaceship.

"What motivation could he have for lying about that?" she asked Vissa.

"I don't know," Vissa said, with wide eyes. "You know him best. I just can't imagine that he wouldn't be able to recall a violet-hued, undulating ship that destroys everything in its path, especially if it's something that's turning up as feedback in the holographic field, time after time."

"That's what I was thinking," Martha said. "But he says he doesn't remember."

"Interesting," Vissa said, staring off a bit. "Well, we did say that his mind isn't rooted in the here and now. Time Lords are complex creatures. All sorts of things hide in the corners of their brains, including, appropriately enough, the fact that time is non-linear. I, personally, don't understand it, even in theory, but I know that it's true."

Martha contemplated for a moment. "Do you think he could be seeing something that's happening across the universe, as it happens?"

"It would not be out of the realm of possibility."

"Hm," Martha said, wondering silently if perhaps they should just ask the Doctor himself.

* * *

><p>That day's Forest images were much like the previous day's, but the Doctor was reaching even deeper to find Tactile experiences. Trying to build a fire during the early days of his Passage was a memory that helped him today. He mentioned being uncertain of how to create a spark at first, but ultimately realising that friction from an incendiary piece of stone was his best course of action. Then there was the process of physically examining the stones in order to determine which ones had the incendiary material, then clearing away a patch of land with his hands, in order to make sure that he didn't burn a large chunk of the Forest.<p>

Twice the purple spaceship turned up, and the images were becoming clearer. It was still not as clear as a tactile memory, but it was clearer than the last time it had occurred. This time, humanoid soldiers could be seen exiting the ship, entering a town and killing citizens in the streets. The scenario had become more disturbing each time the Doctor's mind conjured the ship, and Martha wondered, again, how he could _not_ remember something like this.

And then _she_ appeared again.

Martha's breath hitched.

It was the woman's back, just like before, plus her hips and smooth, tapering waist. What always came through was the smoothness of her skin, somehow, almost as though the experience of touching her was like stroking velvet and wax. The hologram was just about crystal clear this time, even amongst the trees, and seemed to glow with an iridescent shiver.

Once again, the image turned. The neck, jowls and a shadow of lips, as before, took shape. It stayed there for an uncomfortably long time as the Doctor continued to talk about his experiences. He mentioned pain and loneliness in the forest, and his voice became strained with emotion. Though, no-one in the room was particularly listening, because the image he was inadvertently conjuring was so alluring, so distracting.

Martha remembered the Doctor discussing what happens when one came across another student of the Academy, while in one's Passage. The classmates were allowed only an hour together, and they must go their separate ways.

She felt now that it was no mystery who this woman was. Although, based on the evidence, the fact that her image was conjured in times when the Doctor invoked the Solitude of the Forest, it was probably a young girl. It was not a leap to assume that he had, at one time, run across a fellow student, a female, and they had spent one _quality_ hour together on the Forest floor, as adolescents might do, especially when they've been alone for too long.

This made her feel better. The idea that this very tactile experience of a woman's form might have come from a time when the Doctor was just a kid, literally almost a millennium ago, abated her jealousy somewhat. It was _such _an old memory. In almost any relationship, one does not feel too threatened by a loved one's very earliest affairs, even the physical ones...

But the longer she stared at the womanly shape, the more her self-reassurance faded. She was not _that_ familiar with Gallifreyan physiology, but something about this image suggested _woman_, not _teenaged girl_.

She came to the conclusion that she had been lying to herself. This likely wasn't a teenaged romance she was seeing. She sighed heavily.

And then the image shifted again. It moved to face the gallery straight-on and now a smooth, flat stomach began to form slowly, from left to right. The image seemed gossamer at first, but then, from right to left, the abdomen became more real. Then another sweep to the right, then back. If the hologram was strictly a tactile manifestation, it seemed to Martha that they were seeing how perhaps the Doctor's hand had moved back and forth over the woman's abdomen.

Then it stretched upward, and the top section of her stomach became visible, around where the rib cage would have begun. This area did not take much time to form, though, before the breasts took shape. Smallish, rounded shapes gave way then, almost as though they were being printed on the holographic field, line by line. She wondered if she was seeing the memory of fingers moving back and forth along the underside of her breasts, before reaching the nipples

And when the peaks of the breasts did appear, something unexpected happened. The image, thus far admittedly shimmery and undulating, began to keen. The back arched noticeably, the body twisted as if in pleasure, and for the first time, legs were hinted at. They seemed to spread apart as the body reacted to being stimulated in some way.

It was at this point when Martha, without being prompted to do so, knelt in front of the Doctor, said his name loudly and snapped him awake. At the same time, the captivated "audience" seemed to come to as well, and there were some embarrassed grumblings.

"Miss Jones, what do you think you're doing?" asked Vissa, angrily as all images in the holographic field disappeared.

"I'm bringing him back," Martha said, standing up. "I should have thought that would be obvious."

"You were not authorised to do that!"

"I don't care," Martha shot back. "What we were seeing was _private_. It is not a show for anyone's entertainment or study or even as a by-product of terraforming."

"You have just negated everything we accomplished today," Vissa said, teeth clenched. "I had not saved the data!"

"Well, thank Heaven for that!" Martha shouted. "Those were not your images to use. You may have the Forest, but that's all that the Doctor agreed to."

"We weren't planning on using _those _images, Miss Jones! We have technology that will edit that out!"

"In the meantime, it's on display for everyone and their brother to see!"

"What the hell is going on?" the Doctor asked, standing up. The authority with which he did this made Martha almost forget that he was blind. Almost.

She grabbed his hand. "We're done for now," she told him.

* * *

><p>This time, when they returned to the state room, Martha was actually more upset and agitated than the Doctor. She tried to tell herself that the fact that Vissa didn't bother stop the proceedings when the hologram became so vividly personal, but once again, she knew she was lying to herself. Yes, Vissa's exploitation of the Doctor's emotion bothered her, and yes, it is something that probably would have made her wake the Doctor from the trance either way.<p>

But of course the real cause of her distress came from the figure itself.

She let go of the Doctor's hand as soon as they were in the door. On another day, she would have guided him as necessary to wherever he chose to sit down, and would have helped him with his jacket and do anything else he asked.

Today, she muttered, "I need some air," and made straight for the French doors, leading to the balcony.

The Doctor shed his coat, as the room, per usual, was stifling. He draped it on the doorknob, which he knew was within reach, then he felt his way across the room, followed the cool air and stepped out alongside Martha.

"What happened in there, Martha?" he asked. "What the hell did you see? Was it that spaceship again? The squiggly purple one that devastated a city?"

"Yes," she sighed.

"I'm sorry, but I just haven't got any sort of recollection of that," he told her. "I wish I had."

"No, you don't," she corrected. "The last thing you need is more of _that _kind of rubbish keeping you awake at night."

"But if it would answer some questions for you..."

"I know. Thanks."

There was a long silence, and then the Doctor said, "That's not all you saw, is it?"

"No."

"There was something else."

"Yes."

"Thought so," he told her, reaching forward carefully, to put his hands on the railing. He bent at the waist and leaned on it. "I didn't think that the hologram of a spaceship shooting up a city could be _private_ enough to cause you to end the whole session."

"It's not."

"So do you want to tell me what it was?"

She didn't want to. If she did, he would most likely immediately know why it had her so upset, and that was not something she felt like facing head-on with the Doctor just now.

"What about you?" she asked. "Aren't you feeling the Welling? Do you want to lie down?"

"Martha," he said, almost scolding.

She sighed. "It was the image of a woman."

"A woman?" he asked, leaning toward her with his ear.

"Yes."

"Like..." he stood up straight, uncomfortably, cleared his throat and asked, "... a _tactile_ image of a woman?"

"Yes, Doctor," she spat, annoyed. "A _tactile_ image. Exactly the kind that you're thinking of."

"Well, don't get angry with me," he urged, defensively. "It's unconscious on my part. You _know_ where my conscious mind was - it was in the Forest."

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I didn't mean to snap at you... it's none of my business anyhow."

"Well, it _sort of _is..." After another pause, the Doctor asked, "Well, who was she? What did she look like?"

"I have no idea who she was, Doctor, how could I? And anyway, there was no face."

"Blimey, that doesn't speak well of me, does it?"

She chuckled. "Perhaps it doesn't."

"Was there anything, I don't know... _distinctive _about her?"

"No, just a beautiful body," Martha said.

"Humanoid body?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure it was a _female_ humanoid body?"

Martha's eyes popped open at the question, but she did not betray surprise in her voice. "Yes, it was a female body."

"Okay, what was it doing?"

"Writhing."

"Writhing?"

"Yes, writhing," she said, slightly more loudly, and with more aggravation, than she intended. "Don't you know what that means?"

"Yeah, I know what you're saying." He seemed to think about this. "Was it as clear as the Forest, or more murky? I would think that the other unintentional debris, especially something I'd only seen, not touched, would be foggy, like the mountains were when we first began."

"At this stage, I'm pretty sure I know _tactile_ when I see it. This was not a visual memory, Doctor."

"Hm," he said. "Well, I'm sorry if it bothers you, Martha, I really am. But I just don't think there's anything I can do about it."

"Well, it's... I mean, I know you're anxious to get this over with, and something like this is distracting and slowing down the process," she said, trying to seem matter-of-fact. She was still fairly certain that the Doctor could feel her covering. "Vissa and I were talking yesterday about sort of _purging_ the unwanted, pesky things that pop up. It's why I mentioned the spaceship, as well. I thought maybe if I could help you work through it..."

"Ah."

"So maybe if you can identify her, she can stop coming round."

What she didn't say was, _so that I don't have to see it anymore, and I can at least try to start forgetting about you, and her, and all the touching..._

"Maybe, but without seeing her, I wouldn't know how to do that."

Martha hadn't wanted to go there, but as long as they were up Jealousy Creek, she reckoned she might as well. "Doctor, do you think it's Rose?" she asked meekly.

His answer was surprisingly quick and direct. "It couldn't be."

"Why not?"

"It just _couldn't_ be. If you're telling me it's definitely tactile, and that it's... well. Then... it's not her."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Well then," Martha said, temporarily relieved. "I've got nothing."

"Neither have I," he said. "I don't like to brag, Martha, but I'm over nine hundred years old. I've been married more than once, and have been round the block a time or two. Especially when I was in my four-hundreds. Aw, that was a great age to be."

"So you're telling me it could be anyone."

"Not _anyone_, exactly, but one of... well, quite a few," he sighed. Then his tone changed. "Blimey, if I knew we were going to have _this _much trouble, then... I mean, what bloody good is blinding me if all sorts of _input_ is coming down the pike anyway?"

"Vissa said it's because your mind isn't rooted in the here and now," she told him. "No matter how much you try and concentrate, you're still a Time Lord."

He began nodding with agreement before she even finished talking. "I would have explained it as a cerebral helioloft-wave traversing time and space, but _not rooted in the here and now_ is quicker and simpler. . And somehow, much more _à propos_ for the events of late, I must admit."

"Well..." she let out a small, barely-audible groan of frustration. "Is there anyone that was particularly... you know, _amazing_, in your mind? Some woman that just, like, blew your mind?"

"Martha..."

"Or, has there been a woman, besides Rose, who's been _really_ in your thoughts, lately?"

Pause. "What?"

"Has any woman been at the forefront of your mind recently? If you say it isn't Rose, then it isn't Rose, but there has to be _someone_ female who's bloody well had your attention for the past few days."

Another pause. "No," he said curtly. "No-one." Then he swallowed hard.

She was frustrated, but she said nothing more.

She knew the Doctor well, and she knew the look on his face when something had clicked in his mind. She knew when he was uncomfortable, and when he was covering something up. And badgering him to tell the truth had never been particularly pretty.

* * *

><p>He was sitting at the desk in the state room, teaching himself an intergalactic language akin to Braille, when there came a knock at the door.<p>

Martha was lying on the bed reading, trying to forget the whole nasty business. She got up and padded over to see who it was. Through the peep-hole, she could see the white face of Vissa.

"It's Vissa," she whispered. "Should I open the door?"

"Don't ask me," he said. "You're the one who was angry with her."

"Ugh," Martha groaned.

Then she opened the door.

"Hello Miss Jones," Vissa said cordially.

"Hello."

"I came to speak with the two of you about possibly coming back to finish out the day."

"Really?" Martha asked, with a cynical air.

"Yes," said Vissa. "We were not able to capture the data we gathered before, but the day doesn't have to be a total loss."

"Why don't you take it as a sign, Vissa? Today is a bust."

"I understand your reluctance, Miss Jones." She lowered her voice to a secretive level. "Unfortunately, you must understand, until we fully understand the phenomenon, there isn't anything we can do about it. And as the _intensity_ of the by-product images seems to be escalating, it is impractical to expect us to stop the session each time the subject matter becomes too personal."

"She understands," the Doctor said, having heard every word. "Sorry, blind man. Heightened hearing."

"I understand, do I?" Martha asked, irritated.

Vissa seemed irritated as well, and her eyes seemed to be admonishing Martha for telling the Doctor about the womanly image.

"Of course you do, you're clever," he said to Martha, standing up and crossing to where the ladies were standing. "I'll finish out the day, Vissa, of course I will. Martha are you up for it?"

The thought of going back in that room today made her feel physically ill. She felt so torn and guilty, she wanted to cry.

"Doctor, I really want to be there for you," she said, taking his hand.

"But, would I mind if you sat out just this one session?" he finished.

"Just this afternoon. I promise I'll come back tomorrow."

"Okay," he said, swallowing hard. "No problem."

She wasn't fooled. "Okay, no. Doctor, I'll come..."

"Martha, it's all right," he said, squeezing her hand. "Really. It's just an afternoon."

"We don't even interact at all when the Veridic probe is running, and the actual holographic process is going on," she pointed out.

"You're right, we don't," he agreed.

After another long pause, she said, "No, this is silly. I'm coming with you."

"Martha, you've been there for me night and day," he said. "Let me do something nice for you. Just stay in the room. Or better yet, go down to the café and get a Shurange."

"A what?"

"A hot drink, a specialty of this planet. Very thick, very sweet, very _pink_."

"Of course it is."

"Honestly. Do it. I'll miss you, and it'll be a bit harder without you, but if you need to take a breather, then you definitely should. Just be on your own for a while - when was the last time you did that?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, again, almost crying.

"Vissa will guide me down, and guide me back. You won't have a thing to worry about. I'll see you tonight."


	9. Chapter 9

**Knuckle under, folks. This chapter is gonna pack a pretty good punch! :-D**

**Please enjoy and review!**

* * *

><p><span>NINE<span>

Martha didn't leave the state room. She did not feel entitled at all to any relaxation or "fun." She felt guilty and nervous the entire time she was alone, and yet, could not bear the thought of going into the Tactile Room again until she'd had a bit more time to come to terms with all of it.

After three hours, she gave up glancing at the clock, and, in fact, turned it face-down. It was no good stewing over time; she'd leave that to the Doctor. Besides, once she had decided not to join them for the second session, she had an idea that she would not be allowed in. And if she were, what could she do or say? And why?

When the knock at the door came, she was reading again. She turned the clock back over on her way to the door. Eight hours had passed. She cursed. Apparently, Vissa had been determined to get a full days' Tactile session from the Doctor, come hell or high water.

"It's about bloody time," Martha muttered as she stalked toward the door, determined to give Vissa a piece of her mind.

"Help me with him," Vissa said, as soon as the door was open.

The Doctor was slumped against her, seemingly barely conscious.

"What the hell happened to him?" Martha cried out, moving to put herself under the arm that Vissa did not have.

"The process is exhausting, Miss Jones, especially without an escort," Vissa snapped.

"Are you _seriously _blaming me?" Martha shot back. "I'm not the one who kept him plugged in for twelve hours."

"Well, if you're not there by his side while he undergoes the Veridic probe and the manipulation to his brain chemistry, then what is the good of you? How are you even useful?"

"Let's talk about the fact that you said you would simply finish out the day with him, not start a whole damn new one!"

"Stop it," the Doctor managed to slur as they approached the bed with him slung over their shoulders. With a heave, they threw him down onto the mattress. He seemed to fall immediately asleep as soon as he was prone. Martha removed his shoes, and placed his feet on the bed.

"Help me sit him up," Martha said to Vissa.

"Why?"

"So I can get his jacket off," she said.

"Why?"

Martha moved onto the bed beside the Doctor. "Because it's a million degrees in this room and he's wearing a polyester suit!"

With an exasperated click of the tongue, Vissa grasped one of the Doctor's upper arms. Martha grasped the other, and they got him up to a sitting position. As Vissa supported him, Martha unbuttoned, then removed, his jacket, then loosened his tie, and pulled it away. She untucked his shirt, then unfastened the first two buttons. She also undid his cuff buttons and rolled them up. She tossed everything aside, and she and Vissa laid him back down.

Vissa gazed at him with a bit of sadness. "Well," she said softly. "I suppose you and I both failed him a bit today."

Martha agreed. "I suppose we did."

"All sniping aside, Martha, you do need to know that the Welling is all that much more traumatic when there is no partner support."

"Well, you might have mentioned that this afternoon when I was deciding whether to stay or go."

"I was not expecting this level of reaction. We've never probed a Time Lord before! Besides, would it really have made a difference?"

"Yes! How can you even ask me that?"

"Anyway," Vissa interjected vehemently. "His state right now is not just exhausted, it is emotionally drained and perhaps even unstable. The extent to which this is true is difficult to say, since he is not fully conscious to evaluate. He will likely have a fairly fitful night's sleep because there may be disturbing nocturnal cerebral activity."

"You mean nightmares," Martha clarified with a roll of the eyes.

"And there may be disorientation. There will definitely be a period of depression, like before. Proceed with compassion, Miss Jones."

"I always do," Martha assured her, annoyed.

"We will see you tomorrow morning in the Tacile Room as usual," Vissa said, moving toward the door.

"Well, we might have to play that by ear," Martha said, with mock-motherly caution.

"Pardon me?"

"I'm saying, if he's in shape to come down tomorrow morning, then we will. If he's not, then we won't."

"I'll send someone up..."

"No, you will not. We are capable of making this decision together without being manipulated by some semi-beatific thug, so just leave us be. If anyone knocks on this door before we emerge through it ourselves, we will not answer." She brandished the sonic screwdriver, which she had been keeping on her person since the Doctor had turned it over to her. "Moreover, this little device will bring back the Doctor's sight, and the blue box in storage downstairs will bring back the Doctor's morale - no more angsty Forest. I wouldn't do it _just _to ruin your cause - I would do it because I want my Doctor back. The fact that it might get in your way, well, that's just a bonus."

"There is no need for the threatening tone, Miss Jones. We can settle this like reasonable individuals!"

"Oh, no we can't," Martha said, putting the sonic back in her pocket, speaking quite calmly now. "I have passed the point of reasonable. The Doctor has done nothing but try to help you, and I predict that even now, even waking from this stupor, he will still want to stay and finish the project, because it's better than the alternative. Personally... well, let's just say, if I knew how to fly the TARDIS, we'd be out of here before he wakes up."

"Now, now..."

"So, if he's going to be _eminently reasonable_, to harken back to several days ago when all this rubbish began, that leaves me to be the hot-headed, temperamental, fiercely protective one. And at the moment, I'm the one who is conscious, I'm the one who can see, I'm the one with the influence, so just back off."

Vissa was now shaking with frustration, yet she put her hands on her hips and feigned a cynical calm. "Martha, you're not acting very like the intergalactic do-gooder that you are purported to be."

"You're mistaken. _The Doctor_ is the intergalactic do-gooder. I'm just a woman in love."

"I can see that. It's making you irrational."

"Yep," Martha said with finality, and utterly no shame.

Vissa was surprised that nothing more came forth from Martha's lips, not even argument. She did not speak, but turned and closed the gap between herself and the state room door, which she did not shut lightly when she left.

* * *

><p>Everything that Vissa said would happen, did happen. Martha never doubted it would, she was just rather pissed off that the arrogant woman had actually <em>caused<em> the problem. Though, Martha did accept her own share of the blame.

The nightmares began within an hour after Vissa brought him back. Martha was still sitting up in bed reading, when the Doctor beside her began thrashing his head, protesting something and kicking at nothing. She was able to calm him with a few soft words and a few strokes to his hair.

An hour later, it happened again. She had already turned out the lights and was drifting off to sleep herself. Just as easily, she was able to quiet him, at least externally. She wondered what was still going on inside his mind.

The third time, he woke her from a proper slumber, and the protestations actually formed words. "Get off of me!" he cried out repeatedly, and he sat up, and seemed to try and brush off insects from his arms. She tried to wake him by shaking him and calling his name, but it did not work. Eventually he relaxed a bit, though he was still not conscious, and she simply calmed him as before, then watched him drift off back to sleep.

And the fourth time, she woke with a start, to the sound of him screaming her name.

"Oh my God!" she cried out, her heart racing. "What's wrong?"

"Martha, where are you?" he cried out, looking from side to side in a panic.

"I'm right here," she said, turning and grabbing onto his arm. "It's all right, I'm here!"

He squeezed her hand against his arm hard, and then seemed to freeze for a moment, his breathing laboured and ragged. "What's that noise?"

She listened. "Oh, it's just a wild animal of some sort... it's fine, we're in our room, we're safe."

"Make it stop!" he demanded. "Make the sounds of the forest go away!"

"Okay," she said. "I'll just shut the door."

She got up and closed the French doors, which she had left ajar to combat the stifling heat in the room.

"How's that?" she asked.

"Turn on the light," he said.

She moved to his side of the bed and switched on a small peach-coloured lamp, that let off a soft, warm glow. "There you go, but..."

"Why can't I see?" he yelled, his face lost to panic.

"Because we're..."

"Martha, where are you? Where the hell am I?"

"I'm right here," she said, once again, taking his arm. "And you're in a state room in a government building on the planet Prissentra."

"Why won't you turn on the light?" he asked, still panicked.

"I did, Doctor," she explained. "You've been blinded, that's why you can't see it."

"What?" he shouted, throwing his feet over the edge of the bed and attempting to stand up angrily. "What the hell do you mean, I've been blinded? Why are you so bloody calm?"

She put her hands on his shoulders and made him stumble backward enough to sit back down on the bed. "Doctor, stop, don't get up, it's not safe."

"Of course it's not safe! I've been blinded, Martha, I'm..."

He tried to get up again, and once more, she forced him to sit back down. "Doctor, Doctor," she said, frantically. "Stop trying to stand up. You're not awake."

"Martha!" he cried, trying to push her away.

"No, Doctor," she protested, again, determined not to let him up again. She planted her knees on the bed on either side of him, and sat, putting her full weight on his legs, for whatever it was worth. "Wake up!" With that, she shook his shoulders, then slapped him lightly across one cheek.

"Martha..."

"Doctor, wake up!" she demanded, slapping him again, this time on the other side of his face, a bit harder.

"Martha..."

"Wake up!" she repeated, determined this time to force him into coming to.

This time, when she went for the slap, his hand caught hers. "Martha, stop it, I'm awake!"

"Oh," she said, pulling back. "Sorry. It's just... I tried to wake you before, and it didn't work, and all it seemed to do was escalate your next episode..."

He took in a deep, slow breath, and when he let it out, his head drooped against her shoulder, and his hands came down on her thighs. She put her arms around his neck and just listened to him breathe for a few minutes. Now with the door shut, there was no cool air coming through, and the heat was becoming oppressive again.

"Martha, I feel like I'm on an island all on my own," he said into her shoulder. "Not an island. A continent. A planet. Just me and my thoughts."

"You're not," she said, spreading her hand over the back of his head.

"I can't see," he told her. "Vissa isn't letting me hear everything I need to hear. There are images forming all around me, coming out of me, and I can't even understand them the way everyone else can."

"I know," she lulled. "It must be lonely in there."

"It's lonely being me, even on a good day," he said, his words soft, halting. "_That _I've learned to live with. This is just... hell. And with the Welling, I feel... I feel like a child again. That same lost child, scared of the Forest."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "We can leave, anytime you like."

"We can't."

"Yes, we can. Let someone else worry about that forest."

"No..."

"Doctor, you do enough worrying for the whole universe."

"And you wonder how I can feel so alone."

"Well, then... not tonight," she told him, kissing the top of his head. "You are not alone now. No islands, no barriers."

"Can't see, can't listen, can't understand," he repeated. "Can't seem to take any pleasure in creature comforts, and..." He ended with a sigh.

"And what, Doctor?"

"Everything I touch feels foreign," he said.

"We can go back to the TARDIS," she suggested. "I don't see any reason why we can't have you staying in your own home, while you help out here."

"Everything in the TARDIS is huge and cavernous. What good is a home when you're just a shell of a person, with walls around?"

"You are not a shell of a person," she insisted, tightening her arms around his neck. The proximity drove up the temperature even more. Both parties were now perspiring, neither of them caring.

"Nothing is close, nothing is warm..." he said to her, half-sigh, half-plea.

"I'm close," she reminded him, with no qualm, no hint of innuendo. "I'll be as close as you want."

"Yes," he whispered. "You are."

His hands moved from her thighs, round to her lower back where the low-slung band of her terrycloth shorts was nestled. At first he just wrapped both arms around her in a wholly clinging gesture. There was now no light, no air between them.

"See?" she said softly. "It's all right. You are not a shell. You are not an island."

And they stayed this way for a few minutes, him just trying to feel connected, her just trying to be there in the moment with him...

"I need more..." he said, breathlessly, holding her even tighter.

"Doctor, listen to me. The _only _thing they have taken from you is your sight. Not your understanding, nor your sanity, nor any other senses. All of that lies within you still."

He let out a sigh that suggested he was relaxing, and his hands then pulled out of the embrace, and spread out over her back. His fingertips dug into her, though it was not an unpleasant sensation. He said, "I know. I just need to know you're there."

"You know I'm here."

"I need to _know_. I need to know _you _again," he said, his whisper having become almost desperate once more, and his fingers found the hem of her tee-shirt. They curled under the fabric, and now his hands were on her skin. "I can't see you, so..."

He didn't finish the sentence, except within his own mind.

...s_o I need to feel you._

His fingertips dug in again, and his palms led the exploration. He greedily took his time as they roved over her back, taking in the texture, the _tactile_ experience of her. Her skin was smooth like silk, and in his mind's eye, he could see the lovely golden-brown shimmering in the soft light, sailing and flowing through his touch.

She caught a frisson, even in the warmth of the state room. Her body gave a hot shiver, the reaction to skin-on-skin, and nearly bit his shoulder with the jolt of being touched for the first time in months. This was not even yet registering the reaction she was bound to have to _him_, to being touched by _him_.

He turned his head to the left and found his nose and mouth buried in her neck. He took in her scent, and found it familiar and freeing. He let out a moan of contentment just then, just before taking it in again, filling his head with her. Then the tip of his nose moved across the sensitive flesh, and he noted, even _this _felt warm and reassuring. His lips touched her neck, not in a kiss, but in an exploratory finding of texture. He turned his head slightly, then back again, memorising the curve of her jaw and throat.

Moving further to the left, his lips found just the ghost of hers, and he stopped short at pressing them forward.

Despite his claims to the contrary, his sense of hearing actually was quite acute, and he listened to her breathe. He relished in the sound and feel of something coming from deep within her, proving her life and existence. He relished it even more when he realised she was breathing more heavily than before, proving her excitement and passion, her devotion to him. Far from being a nuisance tonight, it was something that he clung to.

"How do you feel now?" she wondered softly, through those perfect lips.

More warm moisture from her breath found him, and he delighted in this new experience, noting once again, the almost inescapable pressing-down of the heat in the room.

"Getting better," he told her.

"Good," she said.

His head moved further to the left, and he let his lips and nose rove over the same bit of flesh on the other side, while his fingers found her shoulder blades, and tenderly stroked them.

She could no longer completely hold back, and she betrayed her feelings even further by letting out an involuntary moan. Everything in her physical existence wanted to press inward, squeeze tighter, slide forward, devour. She wanted so badly to whisper in his ear, a barely-audible _I love you_, or a promise never, ever to leave him.

She wanted to whisper something incendiary, as she felt, for the first time ever, that perhaps she would not be met with rejection or feigned ignorance. _I want you_, she said, inside her head. _Inside me, all over me..._ She was terrified she would slip and he would hear her. She was terrified he could hear her thoughts even now, but that fear did not stop them coming.

He then ran two fingers straight down the length of her spine, and very timidly, very briefly, slid them underneath the waistband of her shorts.

And for the first time, he allowed his lips to form a very loose purse and planted a light, almost undetectable kiss along her jugular, and then another one just below.

Once more face-to-face, lips feeling each others' vibrations and breath, she asked, "And now?"

"I feel amazing."

"No longer alone?"

"No."

"Then, maybe we should stop."

Because the fact was, every part of her was on fire, and she was about ten seconds from total destruction.

He was silent for a few moments, then, "Maybe we should."

"Yes."

And so, she stood up, turned out the light beside the bed, and moved around to her side. She crawled under the covers, prepared never to sleep again.

"Martha?" he said into the hot dark.

"Yes?"

"You are the only thing keeping me sane. You're the only thing in this world I can hold onto."

"It's all right. It's my pleasure," she whispered, eyes wide open.


	10. Chapter 10

***cough, cough* reviewsarelove *cough, cough***

**:-) Enjoy.**

* * *

><p><span>TEN<span>

When the Doctor finished showering in the morning, he stepped out into the state room and announced, as expected, that he _was _in shape to continue with the Tactile Sessions today, in spite of the fact that the extra-long, previous day had drained him, in every possible way.

"Are you sure?" Martha asked, guiding him over to the wardrobe by the upper arm and shoulder. "Do you remember what it was like last night?"

He cleared his throat uneasily. "Yes, I do," he said softly. "I freaked out. But you helped me calm down."

She took her hands off him for the moment. "I did. I mean, I tried. Ultimately, I didn't do anything that... anyway, Doctor, don't you think you should just take a day?"

"Isn't that why you're needed in this with me?" he asked. "To calm me? To keep me on an even-keel and _motivated _to continue pushing forward with this holographic forestation thing, agreeing to the very thing that makes me miserable?"

"I suppose."

"Well, you did a brilliant job of it," he told her, pulling open the wardrobe and reaching to the right. Blue suit and accessories today.

"So are you trying to motivate _me _now?" she asked.

"I suppose I am!"

Pointedly, neither of them discussed _how_ the calm had been achieved. There was no mention of the acute sensory experience the Doctor had had, his blindness having isolated him. They did not speak of how he had been needing, viscerally, to compensate for his lack of vision. He had _felt_ her, listened to her breathe, smelled her, and if he could have done so with any sort of tact, he would have tasted her. After three days, the memories and the blindness and the sadness and the mucking-about with his brain chemistry, it all had him feeling adrift. Who else could he cling to, to reel him back in? But as he had said, he felt he needed to _know _her again...

In spite of himself, part of the pleasant experience of knowing Martha Jones was _seeing _her. He couldn't know her visually just now, so, he'd had to reach out for her.

"Are you really on a full tank today?"

"No," he told her, with a sigh. "Not even close. In fact, I feel melancholy, like... all the space I occupy in the whole universe has turned to chalky black smoke."

"Oh, God," she moaned.

"But it's a hundred times better than the way I felt last night. At least I don't feel like a whole chimney of chalky black smoke trapped in a thimble anymore. And, I think this is as good as it gets, until I cut ties with this lot. And, I don't want to take a day off because it actually does mean one more day in the bag with Vissa and the gang."

"Fine," she agreed. "I'll let you get dressed then. Just shout when you've got clothes on. I'll come and deal with your hair if you want."

She slipped out onto the balcony to sulk a bit.

* * *

><p>She was glad he felt she'd done a "brilliant" job of it. She <em>did <em>know that her role in this was to help boost his morale and keep him motivated to keep returning to the thing causing him pain. She _did_ think this was an important responsibility, and she _had_, more or less, committed to doing it.

But what no-one had bargained for, not the Doctor, not Vissa, not even Martha, was how much, how thoroughly, how violently, the process would drain _her_, the escort, the support system, or whatever she was called. There was the worry, the mistrust, the lack of sleep. There was the emotional strain of watching him suffer. There was dealing with the unwanted holographic debris, arguing with Vissa, fighting for the Doctor's rights, being expected to be such a damn rock all the time... and it was hard, and she had no idea when it would be over.

Though, the more she thought about it, the more she doubted that this situation would be unique to _them_, or to her, just because she had these unrequited feelings for the Doctor. Watching any loved one go through something like the dreaded and storied _Welling, _the heart-rending depression that they now knew so intimately, it was bound to take its toll on anyone. Sure, Martha knew that the subject him (or her-)self was far worse off in the long-run, and the ultimate considerations and/or say-so should fall to him or her. But she felt that the person at the subject's right hand did deserve some input. And, she felt that if she pointed this out to the Doctor, he would probably understand, as he had last night, but something inside her just would not let her bring it up. She already felt guilty for "shirking" her duties the afternoon before.

So, there she was, pouting on the balcony, mentally trying to steel herself to go back inside the Tactile Room for another foray into the Doctor's past, both conscious and unconscious.

How in the world could she stand another glimpse at the Mystery Woman? Especially after allowing herself to take rather a delicious, languid pleasure in her tactile encounter with the Doctor in the middle of the night? Especially now, when all she felt was anger at the whole blasted lot of it?

She was not angry with him for initiating it - how could she be? It was her job, her role, plain and simple. She was his companion, and she was a healer. The treatment he had needed, which he had more or less administered to himself with her help, had been almost as cut-and-dry as if it were an epinephrine shot for a seizure.

Almost. At least, it was easier to tell herself this.

No, her anger was with herself, for enjoying it. For letting down her guard, and letting it take her and make her forget for a while. For letting it pervade everything.

Until it had happened, she had been merely jealous of the woman in the Doctor's hologram. Sure, it had been real and visceral, but explainable.

Today, it was something else. She felt sick over it. She felt rage and sadness and despair and bemusement all at once. It made her want to crawl in a little ball. Being touched last night had changed it all. It had changed the colour of their strange, but working rapport, at least from her end.

And on the Doctor's end... well, even when he wasn't blind, he'd never seen any colours at all in their rapport, so what did it matter to him?

He freaked out, she helped calm him, and that was all. On to the next day's work.

* * *

><p>"Well, good morning, you two," Vissa said in a sprightly manner as the Doctor and Martha arrived outside the Tactile Room.<p>

As usual, she was standing at the door to meet them. What was _not_ usual was the fact that she was backed by three thuggish types, all dressed in black military uniforms.

But the Doctor did not see them, nor did he see the bitter, on-guard expression on Vissa's face. And so, he answered as he usually would. "A jolly good morning to you, as well, Vissa."

Martha, fully realising the nuances of the exchange, observing what the Doctor could not, nudged him with her left arm and said, "No, no. Shh."

She couldn't help being condescending. She couldn't explain just now.

"I trust you had a restful night," said the white-haired, white-skinned woman, almost with a growl.

The Doctor _heard_ it that time. "Whoa, what is that?" he said, with a confused frown. "As a matter of fact, no we didn't - neither one of us. What's with the tone?"

"Tell me the truth, Doctor, Miss Jones. Who are you? Who are you, _really, _and why have you come here?" To accompany her loaded questions, Vissa crossed her arms over her chest, and stuck out one hip, as a show of bravado. Though, in her display and rhetoric, both Martha and the Doctor separately received the sense that she was attempting to hide _fear_.

"Vissa, what are you on about?" the Doctor asked, before Martha could fire back something a bit less tactful. "You know who we are! You're the one who recruited us - you know why we're here!"

"A likely story, Doctor," Vissa seethed. "But there are some holes in it, alas."

"What holes?"

"Admittedly, you've been... _transparent_ in your way," Vissa said. "We have checked the Veridic probe, and there has been no evidence of tampering, other than the initial tests you performed on day-one with your sonic screwdriver. So you _have_ been letting us extract images from your tactile memory as promised - thank you. I'm not sure why you have been allowing it, but then again, the game has changed, has it not?

"Evidently," he muttered.

"But in your arrogance, what you had not bargained for was the incidental debris that seeps in from your subconscious."

"No, I hadn't," the Doctor said flatly, letting go of Martha's hand and taking his typical defensive stance, of hands-in-pockets.

"From it, we learned much... though we didn't know _how_ much until this morning. No doubt, Miss Jones has been keeping you well abreast of that bit."

"Yeah, for his own good," Martha protested.

"Against my orders," Vissa pointed out.

"Your orders? Who do you think you are, exactly?" Martha asked, her temperature and tone rising.

"A very good question," the Doctor pointed out, again, muttering.

"Your front is indeed impressive," said Vissa. "But now that I have found out more about you, I must ask what you are hiding." Her eyes darted back and forth between him and Martha, and once again, Martha got the distinct feeling that Vissa was covering her own, very real, trepidation.

Martha pulled her emotions under control, making the quick decision to give Vissa the benefit of the doubt, at least for the moment. Whether she was frightened of something, or whether she was hiding something, either way, one could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

"All right, all right, everyone just... slow down," she said, taking a deep breath for herself. "Vissa, please tell us what you _think _you have found out about the Doctor."

"It's not just the Doctor, it's you, Miss Jones, if that is your real name."

"As it happens, it _is _my real name," Martha said, patiently. "But what is it you've found?"

"Allow me to introduce you to my friends," Vissa responded, gesturing to her three large bodyguards. "The four of us will be glad to show you what we mean."

Two of the military men moved behind Martha and the Doctor, and the third got between them and Vissa. They all faced Vissa's left, the Doctor and Martha's right. Martha grabbed the Doctor's arm and tugged, as he did not receive the _follow us_ cue that their hosts' body language had suggested. Vissa led the way down a side corridor, just as warm, pink and as much like the inside of a whale as the rest of the foyer area, only narrower.

After a relatively short walk, they came to a door, which Vissa opened with a key, and all six parties went inside.

It was a large conference room, all black on the inside, much like the Tactile Room. A large, shiny, amoeba-shaped table had chairs situated so as to direct the sitters' attention toward a large screen.

There were already two others inside the room when they arrived, a man and a woman, both dressed in warm colours, more or less like Vissa, both sitting. They did not bother to get up when the Doctor and his companion were escorted in.

Martha recognised them both as "experts" who had been in the gallery of the Tactile Room during the Doctor's holographic sessions.

"This is Gruner, he is our environmental impact expert," Vissa said, gesturing toward the man already in the room. "This is Zefura, our military strategist."

"You had a military strategist in the Tactile sessions?" Martha asked, unable to stop herself. "What for, just in case the fake trees should attack?"

"That, Miss Jones, is none of your concern at the moment," Vissa answered. "Gruner, Zefura, I assume you recognise our guests."

"Perhaps," said Zefura, silkily. Her skin was as blanched as Vissa's, but her hair was jet-black, shiny and domed like a helmet. She wore triangular eyeglasses, and the overall effect was quite severe.

"Okay, okay, just show us what you've come here to show us," the Doctor insisted, with a tired tone. "Or... show Martha what you've come here to show us, so she can tell me what the hell is going on."

"There is a threat, Doctor," said Vissa, pulling out a chair between Gruner and Zefura, and gesturing to Martha to have him sit. "And I believe the vessel posing the threat will be of particular interest and familiarity to you."

"Oh, okay... now... listen..." he said, protesting as Martha tried to get him to one side of the irregularly-shaped conference table.

"Did you really think we wouldn't eventually find out, Doctor?" asked Zefura, in a maddeningly singsong voice. "The question is, what is it that you, and/or whoever is in that ship, want?"

Martha managed to wrestle him down into the chair, and she took her place in the empty seat beside him. He said, "I don't know what sort of madness you've picked up on your scanners, but you've got to understand, it's a very old vessel, and if she's gone haywire, and is sending out some kind of signal... well, she needs attention, that's for sure, but there's no threat! Not from me! All you had to do was tell me, and I'd have quieted her. I'm sure it's just an energy malfunction, or a leak of some kind. Just let me into the storage space. You don't even have to give me my sight back - I can show Martha how to fix her!"

Zefura laughed, again, maddeningly. She looked at Vissa and Gruner. "Can you believe this? He's trying to convince us that blue box is his _ship_." She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back in her chair. "The arrogance."

"Well, yes, I _am _trying to convince you of that... I suppose... now you mention it, because, in point of fact, it _is_ my ship. It's called the TARDIS."

"It's an escape pod, and you know it," Zefura lilted. "Or, at the very least, some type of extension of a parent vehicle."

The Doctor's face went stony, as if in disbelief of the stupidity, egotism, ignorance, et cetera, he was experiencing. "Well, you do seem sure of yourself. What you're saying fits neatly into whatever scenario you've decided is occurring in spite of the evidence and whatever is _actually _occurring, so you _must _be correct, because as everyone knows, all belief-systems that are bent to accommodate previously held 'knowledge' are flawless and have withstood the test of time. Oh, by the way: apologies for using air-quotes," he said. He sniffed, as if with finality, then asked, "So what do you say Martha, time to confess our evil plan?"

Zefura laughed, while Vissa stiffened with the tension mounting in the room.

"Doctor, you can vomit sarcasm on me all you like," said the dark-haired woman. "But I am a trained military strategist with over a century's worth of experience."

He smiled big. "Oh, then, _ho ho! _You must know an escape pod when you see one. Or, what did you call it? At the very least some type of extension of a parent vehicle. Now _that _ladies and gentlemen, is specific, applicable, real-world knowledge you can take to the bank. Yes siree-Bob."

"It's a two-passenger jettison pod," Zafura said, unamused. "I'd bet my life on it."

"Seriously?" he asked, squeaking a bit. "Five seconds ago, you were calling it an indistinct _some type of _extension of a larger entity. Now you're betting your life on some fairly specific mumbo-jumbo."

"Escape pod. Otherwise, why would it be as small as it is?"

"Er, I'm a Time Lord, haven't you received the memo? Have you looked inside the escape pod? I think you might be surprised."

"No need, Doctor," Zefura informed him. "Just look. Miss Jones? Vissa?"

Vissa activated some kind of large screen. "This is the threat," she announced. "It is currently orbiting our planet, and closing in at a speed of eighteen-thousand miles per revolution."

Zefura commented, "We have intercepted malevolent signals from it, belonging to certain electronic weaponry that is, in fact, illegal in this galaxy."

Vissa placed her hands on her hips. "You lied to us. You said you had never seen it before, and yet, here it is, turning up within a week of your arrival. And we know it has been at the forefront of your mind, since it's manifested as psychic debris on the holographic field, now three times. This is _not _a coincidence. You tricked us! What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

The Doctor had absolutely no idea.

Martha was too busy staring in disbelief to say anything.

Because, on the screen in real-time, there glowed a purple, undulating, tentacled spaceship.


	11. Chapter 11

**I struggled with this chapter, especially with Vissa's words and attitude. I know she's been kind of all over the place, but she's got weaknesses, just like we all do. She doesn't quite trust them, and has always known that they don't quite trust her. At the same time, she wants to be businesslike, wants to protect her interests, but she wants their help and also is fearful. She doesn't quite understand the Doctor, and she knows it...**

**In any case, I hope this all feels organic, and not too jarring in any way. :-) Hopefully by the end of this chapter, you'll have no idea whatsoever what I'm talking about ;-).**

**Enjoy, and please review! :-D**

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><p><span>ELEVEN<span>

Martha swallowed hard, and managed to find her voice. "Vissa, I know what this looks like," she said, gesturing for _calm_ with both hands. "But you've got it wrong."

"You lied to me," Vissa shot at her with narrowed eyes.

"No, I did not, I just told you what..." Martha trailed off. Suddenly, she felt a little sick. She did not want to let on what she was thinking, not to _anyone_ in the room. So she finished the sentence in the least-incendiary way she knew how. "I just told you what I knew to be true."

The real truth was, _I just told you what the Doctor told me._

Could it be? Had he been lying to her? How could it be possible that something that he had never seen before was not only manifesting in the holographic field from debris from inside his mind, but now also was closing in on the planet at a fairly high speed, presumably ready to pounce?

She did not for a moment believe that the Doctor could be in cahoots with a malevolent alien species, or that he would be involved in some plot to infiltrate the planet Prissentra somehow, only to usher in an insidious attack by a purple ship (at least not without telling _her _about it, and explaining the whys and hows, and making her understand what Prissentra had done to deserve it). But it was not outside the realm of possibility for him to be hiding _something_. In fact, she was sure that he hid things from her every day. And not just a long history of being a Time Lord, things about life and space and time that just never came up in conversation. He hid real things, things that he pointedly chose not to tell her, especially about people and relationships, death and disaster. She had come to accept it, and tried to tell herself that things she really needed to know would reveal themselves in due time.

But, it was still frustrating beyond frustrating. Case in point, yesterday. When she had asked him about the female figure in his holograms, he said he had no idea who it was. Fair enough, how could he, if it was subconscious fodder, the woman had no face, and the Doctor couldn't see her anyway? But when Martha had asked him if there was a particular woman who had been on his mind, he had become evasive and denied that there was anyone... a little too vehemently, in Martha's opinion. And she knew him well at this stage. That dodgy denial might as well have been explicit assent.

So, what was he hiding about the purple ship?

"Martha, what's going on?" he asked, while she was in contemplation.

She sighed. "You remember that purplish squid ship I told you about?"

"The one that keeps showing up in the holographic field when I'm plugged into the Tactile sessions?" he asked, his voice low, flat, knowing what was coming.

"Yes."

"It's orbiting the planet, isn't it?" he asked.

"Apparently," Martha said.

The Doctor cursed.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell us, Doctor?" Zefura asked, like a schoolteacher who's just caught a five-year-old pupil stealing paints.

"No!" the Doctor responded, with a touch of desperation in his voice. "There is not! I have no idea where that ship came from! It does seem to be embedded in my mind somehow, though I've never seen it before, but... suffice it to say, I'll need to find out more before I comment on that."

Zefura made a sound that indicated exasperation. "Come on, Doctor," she told him. "We will never let you off this planet alive, as long as this conflict exists. You will be in the line of fire with the rest of us, when the ship attacks. Unless you tell us the truth and how to stop it. It's no good denying what you know, unless you're on some sort of kamikaze mission."

At that, both Martha and the Doctor distinctly heard Vissa's breath hitch.

"I will absolutely help you stop it," he assured Zefura. "In fact, try and stop me helping you stop it!"

The other person in the room, Gruner, the environmental impact expert who had yet to speak, piped up. "To what end, Doctor?"

"What do you mean, _to what end_?" he asked. "From what Martha has told me, the image exists in my mind of this spaceship thing levelling a city. If there is a precedent for it, sometime in my past - I don't know, something I've repressed, maybe? - we should proceed as though it will happen again. Or rather, it's smart to prepare for the worst. Assume there will be destruction. There will be mayhem."

The Doctor thought that his rhetoric spoke for itself. But the three Prissentrans stared at him, waiting for him to finish.

After a long silence, Gruner said, "And?"

"And," said Martha. "What do you mean _and?_ The Doctor works _against_ things like destruction and mayhem, and disgusting ships that fly through over civilian cities and _cause_ mayhem. _You _asked him here. _You_ wanted his help to begin with - are you telling me you don't know what he's about?"

"Miss Jones, are you discounting the fact that there's a very real possibility that he's lied to you too?" asked Vissa.

"No," she admitted.

"What?" the Doctor asked her, his head snapping to the left. "What do you mean? You think I'm lying to you about this? How could you think that?"

"I don't think that, not really," she told him, putting her hand on his arm. "But it has occurred to me, Doctor. I mean... you've got to admit, this is pretty bizarre, what's going on. How is any of it possible, if you've told me the whole truth?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He just looked hurt.

She lowered her voice to an intimate level, and leaned in close. "Listen, Doctor. If you've never seen this purple tentacled spaceship, then there is no way the image of it, such a precise image, exactly like the one on the screen in front of me, could be in your mind. The effect has no clear cause, and we need a cause; this is how logic works. But logic fails me, in this case. The only further logical explanation there could be, is... you're hiding something. But the idea that you're in on some plot to attack these people, that goes against everything I know about you, so again, I'm at a loss."

"Louder, please," Zefura trumpeted. "We'll not have you conspiring right under our noses!"

"They're not conspiring," Vissa said, surprisingly, defending them. "They're conferring. There's a difference."

"Martha, I swear to you, on my life, I have never seen that ship before," the Doctor said, grabbing her hand on his arm. "I need you to trust me." His voice sounded desperate and about to break, and his eyes grew a bit moist. No tears fell, but only because she heard him softly suck in his breath to martial his pain. She'd almost forgotten with all of this, the Doctor was still in a Welling. He would not be able to endure anything that he perceived as a betrayal on her part.

She couldn't help noticing that somehow, the silence in the room, like in the Tactile Room, had become palpable and oppressive. And with it, of course, the heat.

She moved her chair forward, leaned in near his ear, and whispered, "All right. I believe you, and we will work out what's going on. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I doubted you." She picked up his hand in hers and, without thinking, brought his fingers to her mouth. She kissed them softly, then let them back down again.

"Thank you, Martha," he whispered.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Zefura wailed.

"Shush," Vissa scolded. "Just give them a minute. I want to see what else happens."

A realisation was coming to the Doctor in that moment. Almost without letting any air through, almost simply _mouthing_ the words, he whispered in Martha's ear, "I know why logic is failing. I know what's causing something I've never seen or touched to manifest as a hologram."

"You do?"

"Yes," he said.

"What?"

"Later."

From there, he stood up and clapped, very like himself. "So, ladies... and gentleman. Are you going to let me help you stop this thing from destroying your cities, or do I have to take the bull by the horns and go all cloak-and-dagger? Which, actually, might be fine because I'm quite good at that. And I cut a dashing figure while doing it, so it's really up to you."

There was silence while Zefura, Gruner and Vissa looked at each other.

"You can't be seriously considering giving him access to our defence systems," Zefura cried out, getting to her feet.

Vissa frowned contemplatively at the Doctor. "I am considering it. Mostly because I have a feeling he's going to _get_ access to them, one way or the other. I think it might be easier just to let him in, rather than find him rooting about later. If he's going to commit some great act of sabotage, at least we can curtail it quickly and have it done with."

"Throw him in a cell - throw them both in a cell! Then, they won't interfere at all!" Zefura insisted.

"That _might_ work," the Doctor conceded to her. "_Might_. But in the first place, I'm wicked clever, and there's every chance I'll be able to wriggle free, even without my eyesight working for me. And in the second place, well... there really is no second place."

"Yes there is. Zefura, I'm sorry, but you're the worst military strategist in history, if you're being attacked from the outside, and you throw _the Doctor _in a cell," Martha countered.

"Yeah, that," the Doctor agreed.

Vissa contemplated them both. Martha could see the struggle behind her eyes. She _wanted_ to believe them, and, Martha reckoned, she basically did. She had spent quite a bit of time with the Doctor and Martha over the past few days, most of it was more quality time than Zefura, and others in the gallery had spent. Vissa was rather adept at reading people, and was more or less aware of the dynamic between the Time Lord and his companion. She understood the unrequited love on Martha's part, and the dependence, in spite of himself, on the Doctor's part. She had been watching them interact with one another, and something about their exchange here in this room had changed her mind from thinking they were somehow responsible for the purple ship. At this stage, it was Zefura holding her back, though not without valid reasons, granted.

Finally Vissa asked, "Doctor, do I have your word of honour that you will never betray us in any way?"

"You have my word that I will do everything in my power to help defend you against whatever threat is orbiting your planet," he corrected.

"He's hedging his words," Zefura pointed out.

"I am," he said. "Because I won't sacrifice my principles. I won't kill anyone. I won't put Martha in any undue danger, and I won't give her up. I won't put one living civilisation ahead of another, without a completely just cause, and unless there are absolutely no other options. You may see that as a betrayal, and I can't risk giving you my word on it. So I will simply promise to help you in any way that I, the Doctor, can."

There was brief silence. Then, "Vissa, I would take the deal if I were you," Martha said. "After the emotional wringer you've put him through, he is still offering to help. As you said, he has been transparent with you since he's been here, and so have I - even when I didn't want to be. You were willing to trust a Time Lord with your terraforming equipment. Why not trust him to help save your planet?"

"And I'm sorry to bring this up," said the Doctor, feigning reserved reluctance. "But I'll probably need my vision back."

Gruner's voice cut across another brief period of silence. "Doctor, as an act of good faith, would you be willing to submit to one more Tactile session, before helping us to strategise?"

"What?" Vissa asked.

Gruner tapped a screen that lay on the table in front of him. The display lit up. "According to our environmental actuary, the percentage of the Forest of Solace and Solitude that we have currently in the data banks is not enough to replicate a terraformed piece of land sufficient for carrying out the quality-of-life goals that we have set forth. One more session would get us just barely to a point where... well, it would be difficult to grow a whole forest out of it, but it would be possible. As it stands today, at this moment..." he looked at the others and shook his head.

"So you're saying, you want me to give you more of my goods, to ensure your success, just in case I die trying to save your sorry arse, thereby not being able to give you anymore?" the Doctor asked, chewing on his words bitterly.

"In essence, he is," Zefura answered with a delighted grin. "What do you think of _that_, Doctor?" It was like she was deliberately trying to provoke him.

"And Doctor, if you don't die, and our building is still standing, then perhaps you will submit to further sessions," Gruner said. "And the replication process would become even easier. But if we stop right now, and the coming battle takes you out of the game, then... your visit here will have been in vain."

"Except for the fact that he's going to save lives!" Martha shouted, getting to her feet now.

"_Touché, touché_," Gruner conceded.

"What if the Doctor lives, but this building is levelled?" Martha asked.

"The data we've collected, and will collect, from the Doctor is stored in multiple locales around the planet," Vissa said. "As are the plans for the manifestation technology we appropriated from the Time Lords. We would be able to build another Birthing Room, but we would never be able to re-create the Forest of Solace and Solitude without sufficient data from a Time Lord. There is only one Time Lord, and at the moment, Gruner is telling us we don't have sufficient data."

"So, I do one more Tactile session, or you throw us in a cell? In which case, your city, possibly your planet might be destroyed? And me and Martha along with it? Unless, of course, we can outsmart your prison system and escape before we die?"

"It looks like those are the conditions," Vissa said, reluctantly.

"This is madness!" Zefura cried out in disbelief. "I am the military..."

"Zefura, you're at one extreme, and I am at the other. Gruner has offered a middle-ground. As Miss Jones says, we are an _eminently reasonable_ people. Give me one good reason why _compromise, _when time is of the utmost essence, and disaster is looming, is wrong?"

After a long moment of tense standoff, "You trust him?" Zefura asked, eyes narrowed.

"As much as he trusts us," Vissa shrugged. "Face it, we don't know anything. We can either languish under the fire of some force we have no idea how to fight, or we can take a chance, and take a Time Lord at his word, and let him help."

"If you just do it," Gruner said to the Doctor, ignoring the argument between his colleagues. "We restore your sight, and give you access to our defence system - whatever access Vissa deems appropriate."

"You're forcing him to help you before allowing him to _help you_," Martha mused, with a mirthless laugh.

The Doctor frowned hard, and seemed to contemplate the options. "Martha, look at the screen. Do you see a display that says, Rate of Orbit?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"What does it say?"

"Er... eighteen-thousand miles per revolution, just like they said."

"Okay. How about Distance from Planet?"

"Four-hundred-ten-thousand miles," she answered, squinting at the screen. "And some change."

"How about Rate of Acceleration?"

"Zero."

"Okay, if they're not going to go any faster, or haven't been since this lot started tracking them, then that means they'll have to make, roughly, twenty-two, almost twenty-three, more revolutions before they reach the planet's atmosphere. Blimey, I guess we'd better be glad they're not in an aerodynamic pod. And their method of approach probably means that their ship is not protected by a Tistantine shell... unprotected craft burn up in most planetary atmospheres, unless they enter the sphere with extreme caution - usually slowly, and at an obtuse angle. Which means, we have just under twenty-three hours before they arrive. We'll call it twenty two... no, twenty-one, just to be safe."

"Which means, you could still do a full eight-hour session for us, and still have thirteen hours to strategise," Vissa said.

Zefura let out a hiss of exasperation.

"Fine," the Doctor said. "That's cutting it pretty close, considering the Welling that will come afterward and how slow and just... _off _I'm bound to be, so we'd better get started right now. Martha, are you in?"

"I'm in whatever you're in," she told him.

"Good, because I'm really going to need you."


	12. Chapter 12

**I think you'll like this chapter! More juicy punches to the guts! More sensuality! More ambiguity (sort of)!**

**(You could consider leaving feedback a Christmas present to me! ;-) )**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><span>TWELVE<span>

"Doctor, I know I've asked you this a million times since we've been here," Martha whispered as they entered the Tactile Room. "But are you sure about this?" She knew the Doctor, and she knew that his first priority would always be the planet in peril. What was he thinking, agreeing to another Tactile session?

"If that thing is going to attack, then I'm going to help deflect it," he insisted. "And it will be a hell of a lot easier _with _their cooperation than without it. If the only way to make them let me help is to do _this _one more time, then..." He shrugged, in lieu of finishing his sentence.

"Okay, if you say so."

"It will be tough, though. I'm... well, distracted, to say the least."

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><p>Indeed, it took almost an hour to get the Doctor properly "under," in a meditative state deep enough to perform a Tactile session. No-one was too surprised that, blind or not, his mind was racing so hard, was so crowded with questions and uncertainties surrounding Vissa herself, Zefura, Gruner and the purple squid-ship, that he was not very well able to concentrate on the Forest of Solace and Solitude. Memories of long-ago were rightfully taking a back- seat to here and now. The stabilising pulse was somewhat of a help, the heat brought about its usual lethargy, and Martha's presence was most definitely calming. But Vissa's lulling, urging him to fall beneath it, to abandon his conscious mind...<p>

"Vissa?" he said, unexpectedly, after about forty-five minutes.

She was taken aback. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Could you stop talking, please?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I need you to stop talking. Let the stabilising pulse work its magic, let Martha hold my hand, and just... be quiet. I know how to meditate well enough. Your voice is grating on me just now - no offence."

"But Doctor..."

"Do you want to terraform this Forest or not? I'm hanging by a thread, here. As it is, you're not going to get very many quality forest images out of me... at least not that you can work with."

Reluctantly, after a pause, she conceded, "As you wish."

After about two minutes, he said, "Martha?"

"Yes?"

"Talk to me."

She grew immediately nervous. "What would you like me to say?"

"Anything. Just say it gently. What are you thinking?"

"Well," she said, gulping hard. "I'm thinking... I miss you. I miss our weird life in the TARDIS."

"It's good isn't it?" he mused.

"It's wonderful, the things we get to see," she agreed, stroking his hand. "I love the adventure, the open road, the running, the adrenaline..."

And she continued this way for just a few more minutes, with comforting reminiscences and reassurances concerning what they would be going back to after all this Solace and Solitude rubbish was over. She talked slowly until the faint notion of trees began to loom like apparitions in the holographic field. The Doctor frowned, trying to concentrate on the image.

Martha fell silent.

"Food was scarce, of course, in the Forest," the Doctor said to the gallery. "There had been stories of young people on their Passages who had died of starvation, and the attitude of the Academy's officials was, _survival of the fittest_. I don't know, in truth, if any official would allow that to happen to an adolescent... a child. I can't imagine they would..." he gulped.

The image of a skeleton leaning against one of the trees came and went, and then came back. It stayed this time for about thirty seconds before leaving.

"I did try, at one point, to grow some crops, plants to eat. But my life, the soil, my constitution at the time... none of them were stable enough for it to work."

He was silent for a long while this time, during which, Martha would have sworn she could hear her own heartbeat.

"It is terrifying," he continued. "Eventually, you learn to live with the idea of possibly being eaten by something large, or even freezing to death. That alluring mystery of the Forest becomes all-too-real, but you accept it. You accept it as part of the Passage. You build a shelter, you learn to cover your scent, hide from anything that has sharp teeth, and you relax, learn how to put it out of your thoughts so you can get to sleep at night. But hunger... it's an ongoing struggle. It never leaves your fully-conscious mind. But, the idea of languishing slowly with no food... Food is the only comfort in the Forest - at least the only _external _comfort - during the Passage. And if you can't find it..." he sighed, not finishing the sentence. "Maybe you don't die, but it's misery."

The skeleton disappeared, as the images of small animals showed themselves in the holographic Forest. A few of them were quite clear, as the Doctor began to discuss the creatures that he learned to catch and cook, and describe the process of, almost reverently, killing, cleaning and preparing them as a meal. He spoke with desperation, and his hand shook free of Martha's as he basically mimed the action of pulling the animal from the trap, skinning it, building a fire, and sharpening a stick to make a spit.

Again, he pointed out, "It is the only comfort." As he said this, his voice shook. "Alone and cold, nothing but communion with the bloody trees to look forward to. But, if you can find good food, something nourishing, you can look forward to _this_. It would be nothing short of glorious, if it had been a while since the last. The waiting, watching the spit spin the creature over the fire and cook it oh-so-slowly, it was torture sometimes. But you know... it _has _to be worth it. You have to _make it _worth it, because eating... this is the only time when you feel whole. All other times, you are weak and wanting, just working and thinking, becoming a Time Lord on the inside... but then, there's food! The hunger gets a break, for just a little while. And suddenly you know you have it in you to survive."

The Doctor continued for the next several minutes to muse on hunger and satiety in the Forest of Solace and Solitude, and finding comfort in it. More animals appeared, ones that he had hunted, as well as bushes of varying sizes and textures that bore berries and larger fruits. He alternated between describing the foods themselves and describing the nature of the craving, the fear, the temporary satisfaction they brought to the very heart of his survival.

Martha, in truth, found it fascinating. But then, _she_ appeared.

Again.

The mystery woman, the ghost from the Doctor's mind, just on the sidelines, there she was, very much like when they had first seen her. Her back, smooth and glistening, shoulder blades, her well-formed, tapered waist, and the womanly flare of her hips. She remained this way, unmoving for the time being. But, Martha noticed, the image of her was much stronger in this instance, almost completely opaque, with only a hint of the transparency of before.

No matter how hard she tried to force it down, the jealousy bubbled to the surface, and Martha thought she might gag on it. She looked away, and took the Doctor's hand again, squeezing hard, trying to concentrate on what he was saying, not on the erotic debris inside his mind.

But the green-eyed monster would not be quelled - she could not help but feel slighted, even more so than before, because of the few heated, dreamlike moments they had shared.

Involuntarily, her mind went back to last night. She could hear his rasping voice right beside her ear, his words, as well as his hands, reaching out to her, irresistibly, like tentacles. She could feel the recent imprint of his hands on her, roving over her skin, fingertips digging in, desperate for solace, for connection, longing to _know _her. Her back, shoulder blades, tapering waist...

Her head suddenly snapped upright, her eyes drawn immediately back to the hologram, and the woman looming there on the side.

_Interesting_, she thought. _That could be me. Those are the parts of me he has touched..._

_...except that image first occurred several days ago, well before last night._

"The trouble with finding what you need and want in the Forest," the Doctor was saying. "Is that you always want more. The hunger goes away only temporarily, and you find that though you were fine eating sour berries and bark a week or two earlier, those things now go dry in your mouth and make your stomach turn. Because yesterday, you had _meat_, and today you feel stronger, nothing less will do... and if it _does _do, even if it _does _manage to tide you over for a while, you feel bitter about it. You feel deprived and slighted."

With this, the image shifted again, and much as it had during its very first appearance, it turned, and the woman's neck, ears, chin, and the sides of her face became visible.

Martha caught a chill. _The trouble with finding what you need and want, is that you always want more_.

Phantom touches danced over her skin again, this time about her neck, ears, chin and the sides of her face. Last night as his fingers dug into her back, exploring the smooth flesh, his lips and nose had hungrily done likewise near her jugular, across her jaw-line, giving her terrible frissons of desire. She might go so far as to say, they had given him the same frissons, though she knew that the experience, for him, was about making a connection, compensating for the sense he had lost, and feeling whole again. She knew he had taken in her scent and listened to her breathe, not to mention the _feel _of her, the warmth, the life, reassuring himself she was real, she was there, that she was not going to leave.

_You have to make it worth it, because this is the only time when you feel whole,_ he had said of finding food in the forest, just minutes before.

"Oh my God," she whispered, before she could stop herself.

"Martha?" he asked. "All right?"

"What?" she said, snapping out of her reverie, temporarily disoriented. "Oh. Yes, I'm fine. Carry on."

"Sure?"

"Absolutely. Keep going, Doctor."

He did. He squeezed her hand and continued to talk.

_What the hell is going on?_ She asked herself, careful not to make any noises the Doctor could hear.

She struggled to reason.

In her travels through romance and sex, she had learned that for the most part, men were creatures of habit. There were periods and instances in which they would venture outside their comfort zone, but... well, most guys have things they _do_. There are "moves" they make, a basic repertoire they rely on because they are comfortable, arousing, make them feel like good. These could be gestures, a certain way that they kiss, body parts that they keep going back to...

The Doctor had a highly extraordinary brain, but perhaps he was no different from a human male in matters of the body. Perhaps the mystery woman was someone from his past, or possibly an amalgamation of individuals from his past, with whom he had had a near-identical experience as the one he had grasped at with Martha. Perhaps his reaching out to her was even more a matter of finding comfort than she had realised! Did he have a "thing" about the back and shoulder blades of a woman, feeling sensual and safe exploring them? Did his lips have a predilection for the sensitive neck and jowls? Did he even realise this about himself?

He began to tell a story of a particularly difficult phase of hunger, in which he'd caught some kind of virus, and for a long while, had been ill, lacking the strength and agility to catch fast-moving prey. He had subsisted on fruit for quite some time, until, one day while he was well on the mend, he had run across two classmates. They used their short time allotted together to bring down a very large animal. After that, they split up the meat. The Doctor salted his share, providing him hearty food for weeks, if he was careful. He talked about the relief of having companionship, if only for a little while, along with the security that came with having an actual supply of nourishing food, and not having to worry himself to the bone for a time. What a coup it was for his spirit, what an inflating occurrence for his ego...

And the mystery woman morphed, though she did fade, just a little, becoming just a tad more transparent. Just like before, the sinews of her stomach muscles filled in from left to right, and back again, little by little, followed by the upper portion of her midriff. Small, round breasts formed from bottom to top, and once again, when the tactile image reached her nipples, she keened and arched, presumably in pleasure.

Martha held on tight to the Doctor's hand, and to one of her seat's armrests, in trepid anticipation. She knew what was coming next.

As expected, it was at this point when the upper thighs filled in, and began to spread. She knew she had to let it continue for the Doctor's sake, and for the sake of the terraforming mission, and/or the Rescue-These-Ungrateful-Idiots-From-A-Purple-Spaceship mission.

The Doctor, seemingly oblivious to the display, talked about the next few weeks, and how he was able to recover completely from his sickness. He was able to regain his strength and self-worth, and have a new outlook on the whole experience of the Passage. He talked about climbing rocks and feeling wonderful, swimming in streams and feeling as though he could do anything. If nothing else, he could finally _breathe_ for a while, and relax with the knowledge that he would have enough to eat.

He talked of the relief, the all-consuming satisfaction of it. And as he did, the woman's hologram, now a fully-formed naked body, though still lacking any identifying marks above the neck, continued to arch and keen, in the throes of some powerful bliss. In spite of herself, Martha watched her. And to her surprise, curiosity piqued. Jealousy fell away inexplicably, and was replaced by something else. Something about the image, which before, had made her feel nauseated, now held her fascinated. What was it about her, this hologram of a woman, writhing in ecstasy inside the Doctor's memory? Why, now that she had breasts and legs and arms and movement, was she so much more riveting than when she was just a collection of body parts? She felt it was just on the translucent insides of her unconscious, and all she had to do was pop the balloon and all would be revealed, but...

_What the hell, Doctor?_

Cliffs and streams took shape in the principal portion of the hologram, as texture began to rush into the Doctor's tactile recall.

"After that experience, I thought I could survive anything," he told the gallery. "It might have been the formative experience that most shaped who I am today - the spirit of adventure, dauntlessness... though I've felt my share of daunted in my life. But I'm much more outside-the-box than my fellow Time Lords. I can't say for certain what makes me that way, or that it's even a good thing, but... there, in that bleak forest, my body and spirit sick, with companionship, I found _real_ solace, real freedom, real relief, real quelling of that hunger."

_Companionship. Solace. Hunger. Satisfaction._

Martha's mind tugged at her. She watched the Forest images, and she watched the woman's body. She listened to the Doctor, and tried to listen to her own subconscious.

"I suppose you could have called me a fool, and it wouldn't have been the first time, nor the last," he continued. "But... I felt invincible. I climbed atop that cliff, and took a leap of faith."

Holographic manifestations of water, surrounding water.

"The River Potenza. It was deep and cold. Brisk like a tundra and yet welcoming like an embrace almost... I _enjoyed_ the pain. I had never felt more alive!"

And that was when the woman's face appeared. It was not clear at all - it was still quite foggy. But it was unmistakable, immediately identifiable to Martha, if to no-one else. The features grew tight, and streaked as they moved, then settled into only slightly more recognisable shapes. The eyes closed and the mouth fell open. Her arms flew up over her head, and seemed to grasp at something. The sounds she was making could not be heard, of course, but from the quick, up-and-down movements of her chest, they could be divined.

A slight gasp escaped into Martha's mouth through her clenched jaw as she watched. And as recognition set in all over the room, there was a low din. She could _feel_ the shock spreading, followed by amusement. In her mind's eye, she could see the mischievous grins that were crawling over the faces of everyone watching, but she did not look. She could feel Vissa's eyes on her. She could feel the judgment, the questioning, the doubt.

The figure in the hologram, the Doctor's unrelenting, unconscious mental debris, threw back her head and pulled hard against something, crying out silently into the gallery. She was in the undeniable, explosive throes of orgasm inside the Doctor's mind, amid his discussion of an embracing pool of water, the feeling of companionship, release, satiation of hunger and being convinced of his own assured survival. And for the first time, she had a face.

The Doctor stopped talking, having realised that something strange was happening around him, that people were whispering to one another, instead of listening to him. He was not offended, just confused.

"Is everything all right?" he asked her.

She swallowed hard. "I think I just realised what caused the purple ship to appear in your hologram, Doctor," she told him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Imagine me singing: please leave a review-ew! :-) **

**A longer author's note this time.**

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><p><strong>It might not hurt to refresh your memory of how chapter 12 ended, that is to say, with a woman very prominently displayed in the Doctor's tactile memory, experiencing, shall we say, <em>ecstasy<em>, presumably at the Doctor's hands. And we saw her face - did you catch who it was? If not, all will become a bit clearer soon.**

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><p><strong>A few of you have been leaving comments to the effect of, "I wonder what the purple spaceship MEANS." Well, I'm not sure it means anything, to be honest. What it "means" is kind of not the point. <strong>

**T****he point is, the Doctor. The question you should be asking is, what's the purple spaceship doing in the Doctor's brain, if he's never seen it before? ****Remember, the hologram technology zeroes in on tactile experiences, and _some_ visual experiences, not just on thoughts. It won't just manifest whatever your mind can conjure; it has to _exist_ in your actual sensory banks someplace.**

**The hints have been dropped all over the place. Some of your PM's and reviews are getting awfully close...**

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><p><strong>I hope this answers some questions for you! And I hope it's not too confusing. It is rather wordy, and dialoguey, with a lot of explication that is needed, but perhaps more flowery than strictly necessary. But the topic is difficult for our heroes, and the Time Lord is a complex guy. And I didn't literally want to have the Doctor say, "Okay, here's what's going on..."<strong>

**Thanks for sticking with me!**

**And off we go! :-)**

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><p><span>THIRTEEN<span>

When there was a break, Martha took the Doctor's hand and asked Vissa if they could have a few minutes alone in the anteroom.

"Absolutely not," Zefura piped up.

"Funny, you're answering the question," Martha said to her with sarcastic, mock-wonder. "Yet I don't recall asking you." She turned her askance back to Vissa, and waited.

"Perhaps," said Vissa, silkily, non-committally. "Allow me to usher you in."

Martha sighed, following Vissa with the Doctor in tow, knowing what was coming.

As Vissa closed the anteroom door behind them, she snarled, "Well, this just gets more and more interesting! You say you've been truthful, and yet you've managed to mislead us concerning certain details of your relationship! To the point where you would allow me to believe that you, Miss Jones, have..."

"Vissa," Martha interrupted, afraid of what she would say. "Please stop."

"From the evidence, the two of you are much better-acquainted than..." Visa ploughed on.

"Vissa! Would you just _shut up_ for a moment? In the first place, what goes on in our private lives is none of your business. How dare you even _suggest_ that you are entitled to know about any of it!" She was now properly shouting. Also, she was fighting not to give a hard glance to the Doctor, to see if he was reacting to what she was saying. She didn't want to give Vissa the satisfaction. "In the second place, the _evidence _you are discussing cannot be trusted. There is an explanation for all of this..."

"Oh, I'm sure there is!" Vissa handed back.

"...but I'll need to speak to the Doctor alone."

"I'm sorry, Miss Jones, but I'm going to side with my colleague, Zefura on this. I am not inclined to leave the two of you alone just now!"

"Martha, it's fine," the Doctor said softly. "Let's just talk."

She looked back and forth with frustration between Vissa and the Doctor, wishing against wish that she could be with him, alone. Just for two minutes. So much needed saying, she felt, before they should proceed...

But it didn't look like she was being given a choice. "Ugh, fine," she sighed.

"You said you worked it out," he said. He smiled. "You're brilliant, you know?"

"Thanks," she whispered.

"_You _worked it out?" Vissa asked with sceptical indignation. "_You_ worked out why the Time Lord's brain might be showing us things he has never seen?"

"As it happens," Martha said. "Yes."

Vissa scoffed. "Before the Doctor worked it out?"

"Oh, God, no," Martha answered. "Of course not. But certain... shall we say _revelations_, they gave me insight. Do you understand what I'm saying, Vissa?"

Vissa sighed. "Yes, I understand _that _bit..."

"Well, I worked it out in the Tactile Room about a half hour ago when _that bit_ showed itself. The Doctor hadn't had a chance to tell me what was going on yet..."

"Then, would one of you kindly tell _me_ what the hell is going on?" Vissa demanded.

"Okay," Martha said, turning to Vissa. "The Doctor is a Time Lord, yeah?"

"Of course."

"Do you know what that means?" Martha asked her. "Other than, he comes from Gallifrey and travels in a TARDIS?"

"Do you?" Vissa shot back.

"Just answer the question," Martha snapped.

"Miss Jones, we have discussed this. I know that his nature is, rather, to exist in all times and places at once," Vissa told her, annoyed.

"Okay," said the Doctor. "Fair enough, but do you know _how_?"

"Well, it's like... it's because..." Vissa answered.

"It is because," the Doctor interrupted. "My consciousness, is tied to the Time Vortex. I can navigate it, I can see across it, interact with it like no other species in the universe."

"Okay," Vissa said angrily. "And that means _what _to me?"

"The Vortex contains all of time. Everything that has ever happened, and everything that ever will," Martha explained. Then she nudged the Doctor slightly, for confirmation. "Right?"

"Yep," he answered. "Keep talking, you're doing fine."

"We have said many times that the Doctor's mind is not rooted in the here and now," Martha reminded her. She looked at the Doctor, searching his face. "He is rooted in the Vortex, in other times and other places, all at the same time."

"Okay." Vissa was now nodding, squinting. She was now _very _interested in what Martha was about to reveal.

"So, since the Vortex contains all that ever was or will be, and the Doctor's mind has ties to it, isn't it conceivable that the Doctor's mind contains not just his _memories_, but some of what he _will _experience, as well?"

Vissa's jaw dropped. "But... how... wait. If that's true, then..."

"Why didn't I warn you about the spaceship?" the Doctor asked.

"Yes!"

"Because I can't access everything at once. I did, once, absorb the entire Vortex in my mind, and it quite literally killed me. In that instance, there was no insight, no seeing... only blinding power. And... burning." He paused, swallowed down the emotion that memory conjured, took a deep breath and said, "I'm not a fortune-teller, Vissa, I'm a Time Lord. I can't just _see_ the future, especially if it's on my own timeline, unless I have literally already seen it, or have advance knowledge of it. Can you access everything that's hidden away in _your_ mind, your subconscious? No, that's why they call it _sub-_ , my _conscious_ mind was dredging up memories of the Forest. It's my _unconscious_ mind that produced the images of the spaceship, and the..."

Martha felt him stop short. Did he know that the "mystery woman" had appeared in the holographic field again?

Vissa crossed the room; she seemed disturbed. She took a seat on the pink sofa and appeared to contemplate for a few moments. She sat forward with her elbows on her knees.

"Conscious mind, versus unconscious," she said, her chin pressed into her fist, her eyes fixed on the floor. "The Time Vortex stretching the confines of your mind so far into the abstract, that even your own future is contained in it... though it's more or less hidden from you. At least, usually."

"That's a very good way of putting it," the Doctor admitted.

"Your abstract future is part of your subconscious," she continued.

"So it would seem."

"Your conscious mind is concentrated on the Forest of Solace and Solitude, but you being you... things do not go as planned. The Vortex, or your mind, or both, cannot be contained in the here and now, so your subconscious spills out into the holographic field."

"That's about the size of it."

She sat up straight and looked at him. "Okay, it all makes a kind of sense, but one thing still confuses me."

"What's that?" he asked, earnestly planting his feet into the floor and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why this, and why now?" she wanted to know.

"Come again?"

"Why would your _unconscious_ mind choose to touch on that spaceship, the one that would attack us in the future, and show it to _us_, in this time and in this place? With all of the abstract future debris undoubtedly crouching in the recesses of your labyrinthine mind, Doctor, why not manifest... I don't know, some alien life form that you'll have to fight, one hundred years from now? Or the lovely countenance someone you'll... _travel with_ someday?" With this, she glanced at Martha. Martha gave her a brief icy stare.

The Doctor frowned. This had not occurred to him. Ideas began forming quickly, though.

"Vissa, you talked about keeping the Forest of Solace and Solitude at the forefront of the Doctor's mind," Martha said. "That's why you took away his sight - to reduce input, reduce stimuli."

"Yes," said Vissa, sitting back on the sofa and crossing her legs.

"But no-one can keep any _one_ thing at the forefront of their mind all the time, even with one of the senses taken away," Martha reasoned. "The other senses become stronger, and anyway, one cannot turn off one's thoughts. And thinking of only one thing is exhausting - a sane mind will run screaming toward something else, for its own survival. Especially when the primary thing at the forefront is painful, like the Doctor's memories of the Forest. Especially when there's a Welling to contend with. It's inevitable, even for someone like the Doctor: other things have to come to the forefront once in a while, yeah?"

"I suppose."

"So, besides the Forest, what's been at the forefront of my thoughts?" he asked, barely moving his lips.

After a pause, Martha shrugged and said, "You tell me. There's the Forest..."

"Yes," he agreed. "I've been trying to make an effort to keep it there, to think about it even when I don't have to..." With these words, he swallowed hard, and Martha saw more hints of the day's emotional fallout.

Within seconds, though, he cleared his throat and continued speaking. "And quite honestly, Vissa, I'm sorry to report, but whether or not to trust you has been taking up quite a lot of space in the front row of my brain box."

Vissa nodded slowly. "Understandable, I will concede. I've been having similar feelings about the two of you."

"So when you're not thinking about the Forest, you're thinking about the implications of what you're doing," Martha said, loudly, beginning to get excited. "You're thinking about the fallout from that Birth Room, the kind of power these people are wielding, what it means that they have been able to fill in the blanks of Time Lord technology... and you're wondering if you're being irresponsible letting them probe your mind!"

"Yes," he said, somewhat surprised at how precisely she'd articulated his thoughts over the last couple of days. Though, upon consideration, he wasn't sure why he was so surprised.

"You don't quite trust them," she continued. "You wonder if the Welling is worth it, worth the brand of good it will ultimately do. And come to that, what kind of good _will _this terraforming thing do? What if they're lying about their intentions? If they are, then what _are _they planning?"

"Yes," he repeated. "Again, you're brilliant."

"No, I'm not. I know this because these are the things _constantly_ at the forefront of my mind," she confessed. "I don't trust these people either! Oh, I know why this didn't occur to me before! _Of course_ this is why the spaceship is manifesting in the hologram! You are scared, just like I am, and your mistrust is bleeding out all over the place, so _of course_, your mind produces from somewhere out of the Vortex, the very symbol of the worst that could happen as a result of all this over-the-top technology: someone in a creepy purple spaceship trying to get their hands on that _atemporal molecular analysis_ thing-a-ma-bob. There is a great big _I Told You So_, hovering around this planet, Vissa, and it's been there in the Doctor's mind all along!"

"Told you so. Brilliant," he said to Martha, under his breath, with a smirk.

"So, let me get my head round this," Vissa said, sitting forward again. "You don't trust us. Your mistrust is so great that it's actually pulling images of the _out of time_, of the consequences of our arrogance - arrogance, as you perceive it. And yet, you're going to help us dispatch the purple thing?"

"I'm funny that way," the Doctor said, shoving his hands in his pockets, swaying his hips just a little. "I don't like to see mass destruction, even if some of the people involved are on the dodgy side. A topic on which, just to clarify, I have yet to make up my mind. At this stage, your dodginess is actually rather irrelevant."

Martha pointed out, "Look how many times you've saved the Earth. Some of its residents are dodgy - like, way worse than these people. Doesn't stop you."

"Exactly."

"Are you really that nice?" Vissa asked, in disbelief, rather than awe.

He shrugged. "Well, yeah, most of the time."

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><p>The conference room was much more crowded than last they had been there. Martha recognised Zefura and Gruner, as well as a dozen other experts from the Tactile sessions, whose names she had never known. They had clearly been chattering before Vissa, the Doctor and Martha entered, but now, they were silent, and looking mistrustfully at the off-worlders.<p>

Vissa took a moment to make the Doctor aware of what he was not seeing, that is to say, that he now had a captive audience. She introduced them each by name, and by their specialisation. There was, of course, Zefura the Military Strategist, Gruner the Environmental Impact Expert. There was also a Domestic Services Professional, a Psychological Analyst, a Quality of Life Technician, an Information Disseminator, a Societal Relations Administrator, some run-of-the-mill scientists, and others, some with even fancier titles, who may have had some small interest in the Forest of Solace and Solitude, as well as what was happening with the purple ship.

"Lovely," the Doctor muttered. "May I take the reins now?"

"Not just yet," said Vissa. "This lot, they deserve an explanation, don't you agree?"

"Yeah, sure, if you say so," he sighed.

"Doctor, by now, word has got out. They know the purple ship is approaching, they know they've seen the hologram of it coming from your mind, but they don't know what I know. Don't you think they ought to?" Vissa asked him, whispering.

"I said, _yeah_. Just do it quickly," he replied with impatience.

Vissa took a deep breath and faced the room. "Colleagues, I have been in communication with the Doctor and Miss Jones. I, like you may now be, was indignant at the apparent dishonesty of our guests, having seen evidence in the holographic field that seems to jibe (or not to, depending on your perception) with evidence now being tracked by our Planetary Orbit Communicators. But I am now reassured. The reasons for the phenomenon which we are seeing have become quite clear to me, and I am now about to make them clear to you. We need to be able to trust this man if we are to move forward, if he is to help us to defeat the threat now upon us."

Zefura scoffed and hissed audibly, and crossed her arms over her chest in protest, but she said nothing.

Vissa pointedly ignored her, beginning to explain the nature of the Time Lord's mind, and its connection to the Vortex. She explained the reasons for the Doctor's inability to warn them of the threat before it became imminent, and recapped the conversation the three of them had had, concerning the things at the forefront of the Doctor's mind. Most in the room were able to agree, it was understandable, considering the power with which they were experimenting, and the fact that it had been "post-appropriated" from the Time Lords, that he would not trust it entirely, and that said mistrust would be quite prevalent in his thoughts. The calm reaction from everyone except Zafura was reassuring to Martha, though she knew that sentient beings masked all sorts of insecurities.

Vissa continued, "My friends, we have all seen the incidental debris that seems to come from all parts of the Doctor's mind, and, as it turns out, all parts of time. The nature of the Doctor's subconscious is... well, to oscillate. It is not finite. Much as the Time Vortex contains all events, so must the Doctor's various consciousnesses, even events that have not happened to him yet.

"Let's talk for a moment about the things that dominate the Doctor's mind. He has been told - asked - to try and keep the Forest of Solace and Solitude at the forefront, for obvious reasons." At this point, she looked at Martha and the Doctor uneasily, and her brow furrowed. She met Martha's eye, and for the split second before she turned her gaze back to her colleagues, Martha thought she read _apology_ in her expression. "Consider the quality of the Vortex and its connection to him, and now consider the evidence you have seen in the holographic field, the ones that keep cropping up in spite of the Forest around them. You have seen an undulating purple attack ship, and you have seen the increasingly graphic image of a woman in the throes of... well, something powerful. The Doctor is understandably conflicted over whether to trust in the process, especially since the process causes a Welling, out of which he cannot be buoyed without the help of his companion. Can you now see how and these particular holograms manifest? What's at the forefront of the Doctor's mind? The Forest, the potential fallout of our actions, and Martha Jones."

In the room, there was a small din, approximately fourteen people discussing what they had heard and seen, here and in the Tactile Room.

He turned to his Companion quite suddenly. "Martha..."

"Doctor, not now. Please."

"Yes, now. We have to talk."

"Okay," she said, conceding. She grabbed his hand. "But we're not asking permission this time."

She threw the door open and tugged the Doctor through it, slamming it behind them.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapters 14 and 15 were tough! Emotions are running high, and A LOT is going on. To deal with their feelings or to save a planet? To pay any heed to Zefura and/or Vissa? The Welling is alive and kicking, but it's changing by the moment...**

**Anyway, it's a strange couple of chapters, and I hope you find it all organic and not at all jarring. And I apologize in advance for the cliffhanger. :-)**

* * *

><p><span>FOURTEEN<span>

She pulled him down the hall and round a corner, out of sight as soon as possible. She had absolutely no idea where she was headed, all she knew was that they needed to find someplace private where they could talk - really talk. She reckoned that under normal circumstances, there would be no way the Doctor would abandon the "war room" where they had been, in favour of a heart-to-heart with her (or anyone). But the circumstances were not normal. The Doctor was not exactly in his right (that is to say, typical) mind, and their relationship seemed to be morphing, right under their noses, and in front of the world. She reckoned that today, his emotional state would have to take precedence over the planet in peril.

Neither of them had any clue (nor had they ever thought about) what else was down these halls, but Martha supposed, they were about to find out. Already, they could hear the door to the conference room opening and closing, and the voices of Vissa and Zefura tittering about which way they had gone. So, about fifty feet from the fork in the corridor, at which they had taken a right, Martha tried a door. Luckily, it opened, and she tugged the Doctor inside, and threw the lock into place behind them.

They were standing in the usual oppressive heat, but the décor of the room differed entirely from anything else they had seen on this planet. Namely, the room had no décor. The space seemed to be unused, was devoid of furniture and had an abandoned warehouse feel. The floors were grey and concrete, and the charcoal-coloured metal beams above their heads were exposed. The walls had been more or less stripped down to their own metal beams and some plaster filler, and artificial "fluorescent" light seemed to be piped in rather dimly through some window-like panes to their left. The room was quite large, and Martha had no idea what they might once have used it for (or how it might be used in the future).

"Where are we?" the Doctor asked, his eyes wide open, but not bothering to look about.

"Some kind of unfinished... warehouse or something?" she said.

"Can I sit? Is there a table? Something I can use to relate to the room?"

"Er, not really, just..." she took his hand once more, and guided it to the wall.

"Okay, look," he said, reaching out, gauging where her shoulder might be. "What's going on? To hell with the bloody rules - just tell me everything."

She gulped. "I assume you're not talking about the spaceship."

"No, I'm not," he snapped. "I'm talking about how even after we've convinced Vissa that we're on the up-and-up, she still doesn't trust us! I'm talking about, clearly, something that happened in that last Tactile session that disturbed her enough to make her think that we were _still _not being honest with her!"

"She said that because she thinks we haven't told her everything about our relationship."

"What business is it of hers?" he shouted.

"Well, it isn't," Martha conceded, her heart racing. "But the day after we arrived, she..."

When Martha did not continue, he asked impatiently, "She what, Martha?"

"She sort of... _worked out_ some things about me, and the actual nature of our relationship, and I confirmed what she said," Martha continued, reluctantly. She was remembering when she thought the Doctor would have to endure the Welling alone, and Vissa seemed already to know at that point that Martha had mostly unrequited feelings for him that went beyond mere companionship.

He could read between the lines and discern what she must have meant, not having been entirely ignorant to her cycles of flirtation, resentment and self-sacrifice, ever since they first met. And, he noted that the Welling this time seemed to be manifesting not as depression, but as some unidentifiable, sensitive, volatile emotion that threatened to drown them both, should the dam break.

"Okay," he breathed, reigning in the explosion he felt building inside. He took another deep breath, just for good measure. "I understand what you're saying."

"Do you?" she asked, nervously.

"Of course, Martha!" he responded, roughly, in spite of the finesse he'd been wanting to display.

"Well, I really hope so, because I don't want to have to say it."

"You don't have to say it," he assured her, with no subtlety whatsoever. "If Vissa saw it, what makes you think that I never have?"

"What makes me think...? Really?"

"Okay, stupid question," he conceded, knowing that she was right. "Anyway... Vissa saw it in you, that _thing _you don't want to have to say... and you confirmed it, told her she was right. But, something in the hologram today disabused her of that notion. Or seemed to."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Remember the woman I told you about, the one in the hologram?"

"What, with the writhing?" he asked, jaw clenched. He knew what was coming.

"Yes," she said. "Well... Vissa did say... what three things are on your mind? The Forest, hence the forest imagery. The mistrust, hence the spaceship imagery. And me. Hence..."

"So I'm guessing the woman has a face now."

"Yes, she does," Martha whispered.

"Your face."

"Yes. And you don't seem very happy about that."

"_Happy _is not the word," he said, still with no softness in his voice, in spite of some effort. In fact, there was a hint of barely-controlled anger, or irritation. "I don't know what the word is. I don't know if there's an adjective in English for feeling that the inevitable is coming to pass."

"Thanks," she said flatly.

The Welling morphed then. The frustration was turning to despair, something more maudlin, more akin to what previous Wellings had done to him. Without warning, a flood of tears surged to the surface, and Martha saw the slightest hint in his eyes, before he swallowed hard and pushed it back down. That sight had become quite familiar to her, yet it hurt her every time.

"That's not what I meant," he said, his voice now on the edge of breaking, his fingernails digging into his palms. "I mean... I've been brought to my knees with sadness and regret and fear over the last few days, Martha. You've kept me strong, been the one bright spot to me, which is saying something, coming from a blind man. So, it's inevitable. _Of course_ you'd be the one at the forefront of my mind."

"Right, so... your mind isn't rooted in the here and now," she reasoned, avoiding looking at him. "So perhaps it's not rooted necessarily in reality either."

"Martha, no, that's not..."

She actually chuckled, and actually delivered her words in a swift waterfall fashion that was much more like the Doctor's, than like her own. "And, no offence, but you're a bloke, more or less, and given the close proximity of late, you and me, how much you've been hurting, and given our _little moment _last night, it's only natural that you'd have fantasies..." she said, even knowing full well that their _little moment_ had appeared in the hologram days before it actually occurred.

"Martha..."

"I mean, God knows _I've_ had _my_ share, especially..."

"Martha, listen to me," he said, standing up straight, reaching out to her again, even though she was pacing a little. He managed to catch her by the upper arms. His grip _almost _hurt, and his voice was breathless somehow. "They are not fantasies. They are not just any random image that my mind can conjure. By your own admission, these are _tactile_ experiences. You _know _this. That's what that whole hologram thing is about." He let go of her, and made a face and cocked his head in a way that seemed to convey disappointment with her for being so obtuse.

"Yeah, I guess."

"And you're right, I do have constant access to cerebral helioloft waves that travel from my mind through the Vortex, which gives me the _not rooted in the here and now _effect you and Vissa talk about. But _not in the here and now _does not mean _imaginary. _The tactile imagery has to be real. You can't _touch_ a fantasy, or an idea."

"Sometimes things you've _seen_ manifest in the hologram," she pointed out, meekly.

"Seen, Martha, not imagined. Trust me, I inspected it: that Veridic probe is programmed to look for the very most concrete of experiences. Fantasies wouldn't even register as throwaway data."

"I see."

"Do you?"

"Yes," she conceded. She knew exactly what he was saying - she'd known it all along, but had not allowed herself to believe it.

"I think you do," he told her. He gulped, and almost reluctantly, he said, "So, if there is... well, writhing... with you, all tactile and clear, inside my mind... then it exists, somewhere in time and space. It exists on my timeline, Martha... just not here or now."

She stared at him with her mouth open, hoping some intelligent thought, some sound, would come out. After none did, the Doctor, who could not see her expression, let go of her arms and said, "Hello?" There was fear now, rising.

And for her part, in spite of herself, she felt just a bit panicked. "What am I supposed to do with that?" she asked, betraying more exasperation than she had wanted.

"Nothing," he said, his voice low and controlled, not daring to raise itself for fear of letting out too much. He dared not let her know that the question had stymied him, and hurt his feelings a little. "At least not for the moment. Just let it in, as it comes. And let me say thanks."

He reached forward, and caught her arm again cautiously, and slid his hand down into hers. He pulled her forward, and gave her a slow, tight, warm embrace. It felt different from every other hug he'd given her. This was not a happy embrace of friendship, or _oh, thank God you're alive_. This was something else.

"Thanks for what?" she asked, returning the embrace.

He held her even tighter, and took in a big breath, consolidating all of the frustration, all of the depression, nervousness and fear he'd felt in the past few minutes. A great big ball, ready to blow, was in the pit of his stomach. Consciously, he prepared to let it out. He envisioned the ball of energy dissipating inside of him, and how good it would feel to exhale it through his mouth, all the while wrapped around her, letting her feel him relax, letting her feel the fruits of her labours, the beginnings of something quite new, and...

And then, aggravatingly, inconveniently, there was a knock at the door. The pounding echoed through the cavernous space like gunshots.

Zefura's shrill voice followed. "Doctor? Miss Jones? Are you two in there?"

The frustration had returned. He had not had time to exhale.

"Agh! Yes," the Doctor cried out, letting go of Martha, almost with a little shove. "But you're going to have to give us a moment, Zefura!"

"That is definitely not going to happen, Doctor! We do not have time for this, and I do not share my esteemed colleague's foolhardy trust of you. You _will_ open this door immediately, and you _will_ return to the conference room with me!" she shot back.

"Oh, I will, will I? And what if I won't?"

"I will stand here and pound on this door until you come out! I will _starve_ you out, if I have to. Turn up the heat until you have no choice, even."

"Turn up the heat _even more?"_ the Doctor asked, with mock-amazement. "Oh, now that _would _be something!"

"Doctor, save us both some time and some shouting and just get out here! The both of you!"

"Do you have the sonic?" he whispered to Martha, teeth clenched, rage again barely contained.

Amid further shouts from Zefura, she dug into her back pocket and produced it. She tried to put it in his hand, but he pushed it back at her, and said, "Turn the axis about forty-five degrees, top portion to the left. Then, use setting sixteen-hundred-thirty-two. In that order."

She nodded, and did as he asked, then pressed the button. The device buzzed as usual, and to her astonishment, she began to hear the music-to-her-ears grind and groan of the TARDIS. The space began to fill with the incidental wind, and within ten seconds, the Police Box had materialised in the room with them, about fifty short feet away.

"Doctor! Doctor, what the hell is that noise?" Zefura was screaming from outside the door. "I demand you tell me just what is going on!"

"Door," he whispered to Martha.

She led him to the door, and placed his hand on the knob. He asked, "Zefura, are you alone, or have you brought the Legion of Doom with you?"

She reluctantly replied, "I'm alone."

"You'd _better_ be alone!" he shouted.

"Yes! Your good friend Vissa has ordered all security personnel _not _to pursue nor capture you."

He unlocked and opened the door. "Wise, woman, Vissa. She seems to know what she's dealing with, on most fronts. Or, at least, she uses the actual evidence in front of her to come to conclusions that are not completely daft. More than I can say about some."

"Come on, Doctor," Zefura said, condescendingly, trying to grab his hand and lead him down the hall.

He tugged his hand away angrily and spat, loudly, "Now look, you bloody harpy. I opened this door so that you can see what made that noise. Do you see it, the blue box? That is my TARDIS. My _escape pod_, as you like to call it. I can bring it to me anywhere I am, and I know how to fly it, even without my sight, and if you do not allow my Companion and me the time we require, then she and I shall climb into it and fly away, and you'll have to deal with that purple ship all on your own. Not to mention a partially terraformed Forest of Solace and Solitude."

Zefura stared at the TARDIS in disbelief for a moment, then shook it off. She scoffed. "Fine, go. I'm a trained..."

"Military strategist, I know," the Doctor conceded. "I haven't forgotten. But do you really think you'll be able to hold onto your job, when Vissa works out you're the one who drove me out of here? And she will, 'cause I'll tell her. Right before I refuse to return, if I have to work with you again."

She stared into his unseeing eyes for a few moments, then looked past him to see Martha Jones standing, watching, arms folded over her chest, her eyes deadly serious.

"You're bluffing," said Zefura. "Your track record indicates that you would never leave a planet in peril."

"Yeah, it does," the Doctor said. "Which brings about two very good points. One: if you _know _that, then why the hell won't you trust us? I mean, I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt at first, but now? You're just plain _stupid_. I'm sorry, Zefura, I don't usually go there, but time is of the essence today and I've got to call them like I see them. Actually, I guess I'm not that sorry."

"Doctor!" was all she could manage.

"And two: well, I'll just tell Vissa that you tried to call my bluff and risked the whole shabang. So, either way, unless you leave us well and truly alone, until we tell you we're finished, you're out of a job."

Zefura's very pale face grew hot and pink, and her lips pursed. She shifted her weight to one hip, and said, "How much time do you need?"

"As much as it takes to hash out our personal issues, of which there are many," he said, voice low, breathless again. He was trying to keep from shouting at her anymore. "Because right now, thanks to you lot, my emotional state is one step short of basket-case. If you want me alert and sane for the fight, I'll need some time. If you don't care, then Martha and I will take our escape pod and go someplace else, and will have all the time in the world."

"You don't seem like a basket-case," she commented.

"Willing to bet your job on it?" His jaw was clenched, so were his fists. He wasn't kidding around.

"Well..." Zefura said, exasperation and defeat hitching in her throat. "What should I tell the people in the conference room? They're going to want to know how long!"

"Tell them the truth! Blimey, do I have to think of _everything_?"

Unable to hold it in, Zefura literally stomped one foot angrily into the floor, and said, "Fine. Then that's where I'll be: in the conference room. Along with a dozen-or-so others whose time is valuable... _waiting for you_. Doctor."

The Doctor threw the door shut with a thundering slam, locked it once more, and turned toward where he'd last seen Martha. "So, where were we?"

He tried to smile, and took a deep breath, attempting to shake off the mood-killer that was Zefura the Military Strategist.

"I believe I was doing _this_," he said, pulling her in slowly, to resume the embrace. Though, he found that the moment had gone. The ball of energy had spread throughout him like a proper Welling once more, and no longer was compressed and ready to exhale. It was all over, once again slightly out-of-control.

Martha's gaze fell upon the light coming through beneath the door, and noticed that two dark globs remained. "She's still there," Martha whispered.

"Let's get away from the door." The Doctor took her by the upper arms again, and began to push. "Where's the wall?" he whispered back.

She took his elbows in-hand and moved backward, keeping her eyes trained over her shoulder, until her back was against one of the plaster wall panels.

"Listen," she said softly. "You don't have to thank me. You know how this works... we're a team. Partners. It's nothing you wouldn't have done for..."

"Shh," he interrupted.

He wanted his time with Martha - _needed _it. They had come here to talk, but amidst all the talk, all the explaining, all the abstractness of thinking about Time and Space and being a Time Lord, something was conspicuously missing. Painfully missing. Emotion was waiting to burst, and there was also a hunger, a need to consume, as well as unleash. Just like last night, he needed to reach out, to feel. She was the one woman who had been at the forefront of his mind through all of this rubbish, and he now knew that somewhere in his future with her, there lay passion. Everyone had known it, it could be said, for longer than he had. Last to know, he had to make up for lost time. He needed to _know _her, and the drive became unbearable.

So, he did the only thing, in the desperation of this Welling, that he could think to do, to ease that ache.

He pressed his mouth hard against hers. His hands pushed against her hips, his right leg pinned her left leg against the wall.

Then, he pulled away and kissed her ear, exhaling audibly, with relief, with heat... she couldn't tell which. He whispered, "Why does it seem like I can only feel anything if I can feel you?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Emotions running high still... whew!**

**And a bit of a gear-change halfway through. :-) Enjoy!**

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><p><span>FIFTEEN<span>

"Why does it seem like I can only feel anything if I can feel you?" he asked.

It was clearly a rhetorical question, but she searched her psyche for some way to respond. Nothing came. Her mind was struggling just to catch up.

It didn't stop, and her mind raced even further, further uphill, clawing at loose sand. He curled his arms around her waist and held her just short of _too _tightly, lifting her up onto her toes. He buried his nose and mouth, once again, in the crook of her neck. This time, he opened his mouth and let his tongue and lips do the work.

She was warm. She was smooth. She was pliant. Her skin tasted salty, like the sea. She had a little moan that was like a melody. He could feel perfectly-shaped curves through knit trousers and a soft tee-shirt. She smelled like makeup, vanilla-lavender lotion and the coffee she'd taken during the last break - somehow, the combination was intoxicating. He thought about her words, her kindness, her love, her brilliance, and with all of this input, a perfect human being seemed to come to fruition right there in his arms, and certainly in his mind. And someday, he'd get to _see _her again...

And in this moment, he had no idea how he would be able to put the Forest at the forefront ever again.

* * *

><p>Somewhere on the surface of Martha Jones' mind, there was panic, in spite of herself. She was desperate, scrambling to form a coherent thought. What to make of this, other than euphoria? Apart from the enjoyment, there had to be some sort of intellectual... some sort of rational...<p>

Why did this moment obliterate her senses, while heightening the Doctor's?

She could not see nor hear nor feel anything, except her head spinning and her body beginning to spark like a match. And yet, she clung. She grasped just as tightly as he did. She was afraid if she let go, he would drop her, and she would fall forever...

His mouth returned to hers, his arms around her loosened and his hands settled at the small of her back, pulling her forward. His tongue pressed forward. She let it in without a thought.

For a long while, they remained pressed together, lips clinging, tongues dancing, soft groans escaping once in a while. There was no drive to let it end - all thoughts of spaceships and Military Strategists fell away for now. They forgot where they were, _when_ they were, and what they had been doing.

At last, the Doctor's hands found their way back to her neck and jowls, and from here, he managed to pull away. But only his lips, not his hands nor body. He pressed his forehead to hers, and seemed to take a moment just to catch his breath.

"Can't let go," he said, low and gravelly, after a few moments. "Tell me how to let go."

"Why would I do a daft thing like that?" she asked, with a bit of a chuckle.

He chuckled in response, with an intense surge of smile. Then, after a beat, "Sorry. I guess I'm a bit of a coiled spring at the moment."

She grabbed him by the flapped-open front of his jacket. "Sorry? Seriously? What are you sorry for? Taking too long?"

"Well... yes, maybe."

"For not _uncoiling _six months ago?"

And it wasn't until this point, this very moment, that the raw emotion turned to lust. Until now, the churning inside had been incendiary, needy, but perhaps slightly misdirected, more or less nameless and unsure of its own objective.

But no longer.

"Ohh," he growled, pressing forward for a very hearty, but brief, kiss. "I'm not anywhere near _uncoiled_ yet."

"Goodness. How uncoiled are you going to get?" she asked, feigning innocence, but not really.

"Try me," he challenged.

For the hundredth time since they had arrived here, Martha noticed the heat, though, this time, she wondered if it was mostly coming from within.

For all the fire in them, his eyes could have been what was raising the temperature in the room. He obviously still could not see her, and yet those dark brown pools seemed to focus on her, like lasers, brow furrowed, concentrating. She wondered what his mind's eye was seeing right now.

She thought of the passionate image in the hologram, and her knees went weak.

And yet, when her mind followed this scenario to its logical conclusion, the combustible _try me_, and what it meant, how frighteningly easy it would be for them to use this room, this wall, this moment for the full _uncoiling_... she couldn't help but grab onto that final tiny, infernal piece of lucidity that blipped through to her, in the midst of the fog.

"Doctor," she whispered. A whisper was all she could manage - he had left her voiceless. What did come out was a thin strand of sound, barely noticeable. "There's a planet that needs saving."

"There's _always_ a planet that needs saving," he retorted, kissing her neck and jowls yet again, chipping away at her resolve. "What's going to save _us_?"

Again, she knew the question was rhetorical, and yet, she searched for an answer. And she found one.

"Giving of ourselves," she told him. "That's what will save us."

His face screwed up into an expression of distaste. "Martha..." he groaned, almost whined.

"It's what always saves us," she reasoned. "Maybe not our bodies, but definitely our spirits - that's what you're talking about, right? Getting our spirits sorted for saving Prissentra and its citizens from whatever manner of purple squid-like death is waiting for them?"

"Yes," he said, reluctantly.

"Getting through this moment, getting past what we're feeling, so that we can clear our heads and do what needs to be done."

"Yes."

"We give of ourselves. It's how we got into this mess - it's how we get into every mess - and it's how we get out. You didn't want to help them terraform that Forest, but you did. I don't want to see you blinded and falling apart every day with the effects of this thing, but I'm there with you anyway... most of the time."

"Yeah, I know."

She took a deep, calming breath. "We kicked Zefura out, and now we've taken our time," she said. "We know what we want, and how to proceed. That's why we came here, isn't it? So it's time to hit the ground running again."

"And it has to be now," he grumbled.

"Yes, now. Otherwise, we're just _taking _more," she said stroking his cheek. "When we need to give."

"Yeah," he groaned again, letting go of her, and taking a step back.

"Am I wrong?"

"No," he told her. Then he smirked. "I hate that."

She grabbed hold of his lapels, and pulled in him back in. "But what will really save us, Doctor, what will truly clear our heads for the fight, is knowing what lies in store for later on."

"Yeah?" he asked, placing his hands on her hips again.

"Yeah," she told him with finality. "Giving of ourselves..."

And the unspoken words _to each other _hung in the air as she tugged harder on his garment and brought him down for another kiss.

"Okay," he whispered, pulling away, looking down at her fondly.

"That is, after this lot are completely done with you, and _if_ you still want to, after it's all over."

He frowned. "Are you kidding? After they're done with me? That could be weeks!"

She said, evenly, "It might not be weeks. But as long as that Veridic probe is mucking about with your mind, you're not exactly yourself. You're highly emotional. I'm not going to... you know... not while you're like this. You might hate me later."

"That could never happen," he breathed, swallowed hard, emotion bubbling up yet again. He pressed his forehead into hers once again.

"It could," she insisted. "I've seen it happen."

"You've seen this happen?" he asked, pulling back just a bit.

"Well, not _this _exactly, but..."

He took a step back from her, and let go? "Martha, if there's anything that this whole experience has reminded me, it's that I walk about most of the time under a veneer," he said. An exhale of emotion came out of him. "I'm concealing so much, most of the time. All of the time."

"I know," she told him. "I thought everyone knew it, except you."

"I know it - of course I know it. There's so much that's just buried underneath," he continued, looking down at nothing. "I'm all... bluster and bulldozing, and _allons-y_, but that's just window dressing because if I had to face nine-hundred years of..."

"I know."

He made eye-contact as much as he could. "This process, Martha, the Veridic extrapolator and the holographic manifestations, they peel away the veneer," he told her. "They pull down the barriers and show what's inside. You know this: it doesn't _build _new desires, it just reveals what was already there."

"I'm not sure I agree with that, but I see what you're saying," she said quietly.

"The point is, when the façade got stripped away, _you_ were what was left of me, one of the strongest things, still standing after the walls came tumbling down," he said. "If you give me time to rebuild those walls... well, we might go right back to the way we were. But it wouldn't change the fact that they're just walls. And you're there inside... part of me now."

She sighed, lost in the moment, wanting so badly to believe him. "All right, Doctor," she said. "We will talk about it more. But here and now... still not the time, nor the place."

There was a pause while his features grew hard, and he seemed to struggle to see her through the blindness. Then suddenly, he cursed in frustration, and kissed her again. Another few minutes passed this way, breath mingling with breath, restrained moans twisting together in the air...

Then, quite suddenly, he seemed to reach something like the penultimate point, just before _no return. _He then forced himself to pull away, and shouted, "All right! Yowza!" It was a cleansing exclamation, and he stretched his arms and shoulders backward, then popped his neck muscles. He attempted, literally, to _shake off _the weight of the moment. After a beat, he stopped then seemed to look in Martha's direction, blinking.

"Ready?"

"Yep," he answered. "Really ready."

"Really?"

"Yeah, because until now, I only _thought_ I wanted this rubbish over-with. Now... I want it bloody well finished. Yesterday."

* * *

><p>As Martha led the Doctor back down the hall, out of the quasi-warehouse toward the conference room, Vissa and Zefura came charging desperately around the corner.<p>

"Oh, thank Heaven," Vissa said, clutching her chest. "Didn't want to have to interrupt you again."

"What's going on?" Martha asked.

"The building is under siege!"

"What? The building?" Martha spat. "I thought we had hours!"

"We would," Zefura chimed in. "If all we had to worry about was the purple thing with the tentacles. But something else has come - got in under the radar, as it were."

"Let me guess," said the Doctor. "The purple ship was a diversion."

"Maybe," said Zefura, in the first level-headed, reasonably-toned sentence she had thus far spoken to the Doctor. "But the frequencies we are detecting from within the building are entirely different from the frequencies coming from the purple thing, the orbiting craft."

"So, you're under attack from more than one source," the Doctor concluded.

"It would seem so, yes," conceded Zefura.

The Doctor sighed. "Are the troops still gathered in the conference room?"

"Yes."

"Well, what are we standing here for?"

* * *

><p>"Okay, folks," the Doctor said, throwing the door of the Conference Room open. "I'm through being polite. We've been skirting the topic. You have been willing to concede on some things, some of you have acknowledged the danger of what you're doing here. But today, let's just be brutally honest and face facts: you're being ambushed in your own home, by multiple attackers, and this is happening because you lot have been arrogant and careless."<p>

All of the talking in the room ceased, in favour of paying full attention to the man in the pinstriped suit. Jaws dropped, eyes widened.

Martha pushed him to the right, just slightly, out of the doorway, so that she and Vissa and Zefura could enter. The Doctor walked forward five paces, then walked back. Nothing had tripped him, but he could hear breathing and feel even more warmth nearby, so he knew that there were people sitting very close. But he needed a pacing area, an area in which to bluster and lecture.

"Vissa, do you remember when this all started, and I talked to you about my qualms concerning your terraforming of the Forest?" he asked. "I explained now no-one is sure where the Forest of Solace and Solitude got its power, and it, in fact, might be sentient? Or there might be a chemical in the soil or trees? Do remember when I said that there might be chemical reactions, or even worse, awakened memories of horror and torture and destruction?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Well, forget all of that rubbish," he spat. "I mean, it's all important, and it all constitutes major considerations in the ethics of the technology that you are using here. But forget it for now, because even _that _is secondary to the real problem here."

He stood still now, legs apart, arms crossed. He attempted to gaze around the room, where he estimated that eye-lines might be.

"Your so-called Birth Room contains atemporal molecular analysis technology," he said. "That is to say, technology that can literally reach across consciousness, across time, to analyse the molecules of whatever can be conjured by living memory, and reconstitute them here. Did you hear me? _Anything in living memory_ could be re-made whole. Just think of the implications of that! Think of the weapons that could be duplicated and now used against you! Guns, bombs, aircraft, microchips, toxins... anything that anyone who is alive today has touched. Just think. And it's in this building, right in the belly of the beast! It would take almost nothing for those folks, whoever they are, who are in the building as we speak, to blow you lot up from the inside out."

He gave them a moment.

"And judging by the fact that you are able to terraform, and re-create living trees, I'm guessing that reconstituting a sentient being might also be possible," he reasoned, beginning to pace again. "Think of the _people_ in living memory who are better left to history. Despots, criminals, insane and destructive geniuses! Think of the microbes, the poisonous flowers, the dangerous animals that could be introduced to your midst!"

At this point, some in the room started to chatter a bit, and express cynicism at what the Doctor was saying. "What are the odds?" some people asked. "The worst despots are across the universe! Roku Shang the Terrible has been dead for over two thousand years... are you really saying his entire body is in living memory?"

"Don't believe me?" he asked.

"Doctor, this galaxy has no deadly flowers," said one of the experts, whom the Doctor reckoned must have been one of the horticultural specialists.

"And our arsenals have the strongest weapons _in living memory_, Doctor, we've seen to that," Zefura chimed in.

"There is a TARDIS in the building," the Doctor said quietly, pointedly.

The room fell silent.

He continued, after a pregnant pause. "Until we know otherwise, we will have to assume that our invader friends know about it. With a TARDIS, literally _everything_ is in living memory, and everything is accessible. It can go anywhere in time or space. Across the universe, or across the street. To the dark side of your moon, or any other. It can go back to the inception of time, or it can go forward to the explosion of the final sun in the final living galaxy. Even if a _thing _cannot be located, even if it's buried and hidden for all time... somewhere, somehow, some_when_, there is someone who knows. Someone who has touched. Someone who remembers. And you're idiots if you think that these invaders don't already have those someones, those somewheres and some_whens_ in mind."

Another pause, then, "Now, it's also possible that no-one except us knows that the TARDIS is here, and the TARDIS is quite well-protected against interlopers. But my point stands. Time travel is possible, and the TARDIS isn't the only mode of time-transport in the universe. Just ask the Time Agents. They wear Vortex Manipulators on their wrists as standard-issue gear! How easy are they to capture?

"Reconstituting tactile experiences is possible. Therefore, almost literally _anything_ is possible. And that is _not _a good thing. I'm a Time Lord. I'm sworn to uphold the laws of time and space. I'm trained in the art of, oh, say, not accidentally creating universe-collapsing paradoxes, and/or pocket universes that disturb the natural order of things. I cannot say the same for our invaders. If they are willing to blow up your cities and shoot civilians in the street, and invade government buildings on-foot for the sake of obtaining technology, I think we can safely assume that they will be somewhat devil-may-care in their treatment of the fabric of reality. At the very least, they will be ignorant of it."

A hush fell over the room. "So what's your point, Doctor?" someone asked.

"My point..." he sighed. "I suppose my point is, you brought this on yourselves. And in the future, _think _before you create. This little lecture I just gave you was not helpful tactically, but I needed you to know that this is the consequence of the power you have harnessed in that room down the hall. You think you are doing something good for the planet Prissentra, and you thought that you took all the necessary precautions. But _think_. Think from some point of view that is not your own! Think of other technologies and how everything gets intertwined. You have so many experts in this room, but everyone is just looking at things from the standpoint of their own area of expertise - I daresay it's a symptom of the way the whole planet thinks. What about the big picture? Who sees that?"

"You do, Doctor," Vissa said, gently.

He turned toward her voice, surprised. After reflecting for a moment, he inhaled sharply and said, "Quite right. You did do one thing exactly correctly - you called me. Now... first things first: I'll need my sight back."


End file.
